When Both Our Cars Collide
by Jinubean
Summary: Jordan and Max are usually caught in a cosmic battle, but what happens when she needs him more than she's willing to admit? Events turn upside down for Jordan and Woody and in a horrible twist of fate, she nearly ends up where she began! WJ Please review
1. When Both Our Cars Collide

**AN: Thank you for taking an interest in my story! This is based on an idea that was swimming around after listening to my favorite song (Helena, MyChemicalRomance). It's NOT a songfic, but the title of the story and chapters are lyrics from the song. This is the first chapter; if I don't get any reviews I won't continue it. **

**Disclaimer: If I owned Crossing Jordan and MCR I would be a very happy little girl. _:dreams about swimming in cash and meeting Jerry and Gerard… growl:_**

**When Both Our Cars Collide**

"Jordan, I'm swamped. I know you've already pulled a double, but I have to take off to Memorial Drive. I need you to go to Fens for an apparent suicide." The glaring look on her face told Garret that the answer was no, but he pleaded, "It's your last I promise, then you can go home and get some sleep. I really need this Jordan!" He stopped before telling her that every other employee was up to their neck in evidence and guts.

She sighed, rolling her, pained eyes. Pulling a double with an oncoming migraine was not pleasant. She had not done it before, she just preferred not to. Five in the morning was not her time of day. She reluctantly agreed. She owed him; he had done a lot for her recently, pulling strings, ignoring her whereabouts and what not. Taking her jacket and heading for the elevator, she bumped into Lily.

"Oh, Jordan, you look horrible! I'm sorry," she said with a slight laugh, "How long have you been here?"

"About twenty hours. Going on twenty two, at least," Jordan said. The bags under her eyes must be obvious, or perhaps the way she swayed as she walked gave away her fatigue.

Lily gave her a look of frustrated sympathy. "Garret is going to be the death of you!"

"Or I'm going to be the death of Garret," Jordan flashed her characteristic grin. "Well I should take off; the sooner I leave the sooner I can go home."

"Alright, drive safely!" Lily exclaimed, concerned as always. Jordan was glad she was there. Even on the worst days, her smile cast a ray of sunshine.

She fumbled for the keys to the morgue van as she let the elevator carry her to the bottom level parkade. Normally there would be another coroner with her but the morgue was so severely understaffed and overworked that Garret could not spare even a single body. _I'm personally going to kill Bug and perform his autopsy for taking vacation right now._

She started the van and began her journey.

--- --- ---

Woody had just arrived at the precinct. He had a bad feeling about the day already; it looked full of work. His fellow officers bustled about, solving crimes and handling others that came in one after the other. He half considered turning around and going home.

"Woody!" called a voice from outside his office, "My favorite detective of all time!"

"What, police work too difficult for you, reverted to secretary?" Woody asked.

He forced a grin, ignoring the jibe. It was difficult trying to rid of his rookie status. He shuffled with the papers in his arms. "There's a suicide the chief wants you to investigate down in the Fens area. Here you go," he handed him the information they had on the case.

Woody sighed, "Great." Putting his jacket back on, he took the paper and headed back out the door. He took a black four-door sedan.

--- --- ---

Jordan yawned; bending to the cup holder to reach her fresh, hot, caffeine special she knew that in her condition would not help. She had a hard time paying attention because her mind drifted in and out of thought.

_What's the speed limit here? I wonder what yahoo cop I'll have to deal with_, she thought, _last time they stuck me with that rookie Seely. He is such a disrespectful little son of a_—"Holy shit!"

The car came out of nowhere. She tried to avoid collision by slamming on the brake and wrenching the steering wheel to the right. However, the car slammed into the left side of the van. All she could see was red.


	2. Like the Hearse You Die to Get In Again

**AN: This story doesn't really have a timeline according to the show.**

**Special thanks to Keridwen89 and Tracey for commenting!**

**Hehe I love cliffhangers! Please review!**

**Like the Hearse, You Die to Get In Again**

The van careened off to the right after the nose of the car had left its mark in the driver's door and twirled to face the road it had come from. The intersection was blocked.

The airbag deflated, Woody got out of his car, a little stunned. He shook his head trying to regain his balance from his dizzying trip. That car had been going fast, running a red light. All he could hear was the sound of squealing tires. People started getting out of cars, getting on their cell phones. A man ran up to him. His ears popped.

"Are you alright?" Woody held his spinning head.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

People around him were screaming. Some were talking to 9-1-1 operators. As he walked among the people, Woody only caught parts of their words, "On the corner of—a black van with—I think… trapped—Please hurry—the man is—Come quickly." He suddenly snapped back to attention.

He looked to the other vehicle. "Boston City Morgue," he read aloud off the side of the black van. "Oh my God," he cursed, gaining his mind again.

He ran to the side of the van and busted through the crowd of people. "Get out of my way," he exclaimed his voice broken. Was it Garret, Nigel, or, his furiously beating heart skipped, Jordan? His head pounded. Sirens were screaming up the street.

His eyes wide, he held his mouth, immobilized on the spot. He felt physically weak and sick. He fell to his knees gagging on his uncontrollable tears. His thoughts disconnected from what was going on around him, "Her face, oh her beautiful face. Her fragile body. Blood; caked in her hair. Not moving." Woody screamed agonizingly.

Strangers gathered around him. Some cried at the sight. A man, screaming and crying hysterically in the middle of the street beside a van with a woman trapped inside, a woman he knew. Some tried to comfort him but he was beyond reassurance.

Emergency vehicles peeled around the corner as bystanders moved to the sidewalks, an ambulance, a police car and a fire truck. He looked up as they began working the door to the van. They tried to revive the woman but to no avail.

"She's alive!" one of the EMT's exclaimed. A small snake of relief trickled down his back. The firefighters came forward with the Jaws of Life, to pry the metal of the van apart.

A member of his own team approached him, "Woody," it was Seely. Woody looked up to him as if he were the angel of death. Seely only offered him his hand, pulling him up from the concrete, giving him a shoulder to lean on. He led him back to the patrol car, opening the passenger side door; he offered him a seat.

"You know the drill?" He assumed.

"Yeah," Woody muttered. He stared at the concrete, the white lines painted cleanly onto the cement. He could not bring himself to watch the progress they were making with the van. Her life lay on the line and he was helpless this time. Of all the times she had gotten them in trouble, he had helped her out. This time was different.

Seely took a statement from Woody. He recalled the events as if they were a dream. _Did that really happen a few minutes ago?_ Woody wondered. He took a deep breath and said, "I was turning left, my light was green. Hers was red." _What was wrong with her?_ _Jordan is usually a cautious driver_. His thoughts were tortured. _Anybody else would have checked for traffic, I only saw the green. Why didn't I check?_

"Alright, listen, not that I don't believe you, but I'm going to go take some witness statements alright? Are you going to be okay here?" He asked.

_Why is he so concerned? _Woody thought. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I have some calls to make."

He took his cell phone and stared blankly at it. He looked up at the wrong moment as the EMT's carefully placed Jordan's body onto a stretcher, and rushed her into the ambulance. He stood running toward the scene. "Which hospital?" He yelled at the ambulance driver.

"Massachusetts General!" He replied quickly. With a flash of sirens and a loud honking, they were off, leaving Woody in their dust.

Shaking, he felt as if his heart was on the pavement and somebody had just stepped on it, squashing the life out of him.

He looked at his cell phone, dialing the number and taking a deep breath, he waited for the phone to stop ringing, "Max? Yeah, it's me, Woody…"


	3. I've Been Holding on Tonight

**AN: Thank you for all your wonderful comments Keridwen89 and Orlando-crazy! I'm really glad you enjoy it so far!**

**Is she going to die? Is she going to live? Find out by reading (and reviewing; three reviews put me through the roof because they're like candy:3 yummmmmmmm!**

* * *

**I've Been Holding on Tonight**

Max was the first to visit. He was a cop for most of his life, but he did not feel prepared for the scene he entered. He took a deep breath as he passed over the threshold into Jordan's private recovery room. He was a strong man, but he cried when he saw his child lay helpless on the hospital bed.

The surgeon had said her wounds were bad but his imagination was nowhere near the horror he viewed. He looked away, momentarily sick to his stomach, sobbing, he approached her bedside. "Oh, Jordan," he whispered as if speaking in a normal tone would break her fragile body. He caressed her cold right hand; bringing it to his lips, he kissed it lightly.

How unlike her mother she looked now. They had shaved half of her head to stitch her scalp back on and applied gauze to cover most of the wound. On the other half, her greasy hair caked in her own red blood. Her face, though they had removed all of the glass, was bandaged so that you could only see the right side. Max was thankful that the blanket covered her body; he did not want to know about the broken ribs and punctured organs. Her left limbs were set in casts and propped up to divert blood flow.

He wiped tears from his eyes and stood from the bedside chair. He wished he could be her guardian angel staying by her bedside until she fully healed as if she were still a child. However, he knew that she had other family that wanted to see her now.

Garret entered next, giving Max a gentle pat on his shoulder as he exited. As usual, he wore his poker face, seemingly void of all emotion. When he was alone, he gave away his feelings with a sigh; he stood at the end of the bed.

He loved her like a father and a friend both, and he could not live with himself knowing that he had done this to her. Driving while fatigued is sometimes worse than driving while drunk. He had seen it countless times in the bodies at the morgue and he had almost seen it once more. He ground his teeth, locking his jaw as he stood in thought. He would have to tell Max that he nearly killed his daughter, a beautiful woman whose life was just getting back on a normal track. Garret Macy threw her off.

Garret pushed those thoughts down, drowning himself in guilt. He wanted to express his feelings to her while she was in her drug-induced sleep, secretly, like a coward. He wanted to tell her that he overworked her and how sorry he was that he needed to depend on her so much and then, he wanted to go home and drown his sorrow in scotch.

Instead, he stood at the end of her bed in silence, inwardly torturing himself.

Lily and Nigel entered next. She gave Garret a sympathetic hug as she had with Max when he came out of the room. When she entered, her sensitive frame shook with tears and, if it were not for Nigel, she would have collapsed when she saw Jordan. She cried out as a sister would, running to her beside and touching her face like a mother.

Nigel stood back, silent tears coming to his eyes. _How could somebody so full of life be so tortured like Jordan?_ He wondered.

Lily's thoughts only dwelt on those fateful words she had spoken. _Drive safely_. Here she laid, victim of a horrible accident.

"Oh, Jordan," Lily cried.

"She'll be OK, love," Nigel tried to reassure her, choking back tears. "The doctors have done all they can but she's strong, she'll survive," he did not want to think of the physiotherapy or cosmetic surgery she would need. She was alive and that is the best they could all hope under the circumstances.

Lily sobbed gently into Jordan's arm, quivering with grief. "At least she's not at the morgue," Nigel said, trying to make light of the situation and provide a measure of consolation, as was his manner, but his words did not comfort her as she sobbed harder.

With his arm around her shoulder, they turned and left the room, sorrowfully greeting a pale faced Woody as he entered. Lily reached for his hand and squeezed it consolingly while Nigel touched his shoulder.

Woody shook with grief. The beautiful woman he loved kept alive by intravenous and breathing tubes. He listened to the steady beeping of the machines measuring her vitals, reassuring him that she was still alive. He felt sickened at the sight, taking a seat next to her bed.

"Jordan, I know I did this to you," he said, taking her hand. He breathed deeply, "if only…" He choked on his words and sobbed childishly. _Is everybody I love going to die like this?_ He remembered his mother and his father, both died in hospital beds. Emotionally he admitted, "Jordan, I love you…"

His words fell on deaf ears as she lay peacefully sleeping, oblivious to her pain.


	4. Burning On

**AN: Wow, I've never had so many comments in such a short amount of time! Hehe, maybe I should write all of my stories one chapter at a time :3 Thank you to spikes-storm, Susan Rose Potter, Keridwen89, and Orlando-crazy! You make the time I spend on this worth it! --Gives each of you a cookie—**

**OK, this chapter is establishing feelings for some of the characters on Jordan's situation (esp. Max). **

**More notes at the bottom:**

**Burning on**

Max entered her recovery room, his coat shimmering with raindrops. It was the evening of the third day since the accident. The only sign of consciousness that Jordan had shown was her right eye fluttering in dream. She seemed trapped with exhaustion beyond his comprehension. He had never before seen his daughter look so weak. Her machines beeped and her breathing tubes functioned proving that there was life in her yet, but Max thought _this is not my daughter_.

He looked at the flowers and teddy bears brought by her friends. They littered the table next to the window a bright flash of colour in an otherwise dreary space. Her grey walled room was lit by a fluorescent bulb behind her metal bed, to Max it did not seem like a recovery room at all, because it was dark and cold.

He approached the chair next to the bed, an uncomfortable wooden thing that Woody had kept warm for three days. Max took his own, slightly plusher seat, next to it. He shook Woody awake.

"What?" He questioned sleepily.

"Why don't you go home, Woody? Nothing is getting done here," suggested Max in a fatherly tone.

"No, sir," he replied respectfully, wiping sleep from his eyes, "I can't do that."

"Why not? I promise to call you if there is any change in her condition."

"Because, Max. It's my fault she's here," he admitted guiltily. He had told the story, while waiting for her to get out of emergency surgery, of how they were on their way to the same case and their cars had collided but the story was not enough for Woody. "If it weren't me who did this to her, I would be out looking for who did. The only thing I can do for her now is to stay next to her."

Max nodded, there was no use arguing with him because he was as stubborn as Jordan. Little did Woody know, however, was that Max knew how the entire situation came about, and he blamed Garret Macy.

--- --- ---

"Max, I want to talk to you about Jordan," Garret said, summoning Max into his office at the morgue. Garret told him to meet in his office at the morgue. Max agreed with the meeting because Garret had told him he knew why the accident had happened. He only wondered why he did not inform the police.

"I thought you should hear this from me before I tell anybody else," he said. "Have a seat."

Max had never seen Garret like this. He was distressing, of course, a good friend and co-worker had just been in a terrible situation, but there was more to it than just that. He was nervous, slightly jittery, he knew something that he did not want to tell Max but knew that Max had to hear what it was.

He took a deep shuddering breath before beginning, "Max, I know Woody blames himself for the accident, but you have to understand that it's not his fault," Garret admitted, "It's my fault she's in the hospital." Water enlisted his eyes for a moment but he blinked them back.

"What do you mean Macy?" Max asked. "It was an accident wasn't it?" He could feel confused rage coming to the front.

Garret took a deep breath as Max stood weakly, "I mean I sent her out on that call knowing that she was tired from working a double shift. Max, I didn't know what else to do. I had nobody to go out there and she's the best ME I have. I'm sorry, I should have thought—"

"You're damn right you should have thought!" Max erupted. "My daughter is in pain, Macy! It's not like she was on some harebrained mission she puts herself on and she got herself in trouble or something, no, she could be healed if this were so damn simple. You let her…" Max found it hard finishing a sentence. "I can't believe…" This was worse than finding a stranger had done her in purposefully and locking him up because Garret, her friend, had hurt her unintentionally. This was hard because they were so close. Shaking his head, he continued with a vindictive calmness, "Do you know what the doctors told me?" He did not wait for an answer from the coroner, "they told me that she will never be the same. She will never look the same, she will never breathe the same, and she may never even walk the same. She may be in pain for the rest of her life and she might have to have cosmetic surgery in order to look even remotely like she did before the accident."

There was a long awkward pause, tension building in the room like steam in a sauna.

Max added, spitting with malice, "This isn't like TV, Macy, where the character is healed in the same episode. She will never be the same again. She will never think of herself the same again. Remind me to send you a gift basket thanking you for that!" He opened the office door and slammed it shut, eliciting looks from the medical examiners and assistants in the hall.

Garret sat at his desk, deep in thought while Max stormed down the hallway to the elevator, back to the hospital to watch his daughter's recovery.

--- --- ---

Anger still bubbled at his throat. _Macy could have killed her_; he had never felt so alone in the world.

Woody looked to Max, "What did Garret have to say?"

"Nothing," Max said. He did not know why he would not tell Woody. Perhaps he wanted them both to feel responsible for the accident.

"Are you hungry?"

"No, not really," he lied. He had hardly eaten in three days. He felt in between everything; just waiting for Jordan to wake up. The normally jovial look on Max's face had evaporated the moment Woody had told him about the accident replaced by a drawn, tired look that made him feel old. Nothing would be as important as the moment when he saw her eyes open.

"I'm going to go get some subs, what do you want?" Woody asked, not taking no for an answer.

Max sighed, "Yeah, just get me whatever; something spicy."

Woody smiled for a moment; he was thinking the same thing. He thought that perhaps the heartburn he received as an aftermath would match the ache that he was really feeling.

**AN: OK, you know I like to torture my readers with things they don't really expect, well… As you already know, Jordan doesn't die in this fic. I can't make her die, I made her die in one of my recent fics! However, she does go through some angst involving her father and Woody… so stay tuned, and keep those reviews coming… They make me all warm and fuzzy in my crypt of a basement!**


	5. Things are Better if I Stay

**AN: Maybe this Helena-chapter-title-thing wasn't such a good idea. I may have to incorporate other MCR song lyrics or titles into chapter titles because I'm quickly running out of options! This was a difficult chapter to write, I didn't know where to start or how to end. Help me out by leaving reviews; do you like it? Could I have done something different?**

**Thank you to Susan Rose, Orlando-crazy, Keridwen89, KittyDoggyLover, and Angel Spirit! loving your reviews, but don't be afraid to send crit!**

**Things Are Better if I Stay**

"What happened to me?" She demanded. The tears forming in her eyes were more than Woody could bear.

Max had gone home for a while to shower and shave. He left Woody with Jordan hoping that she would not wake before he returned. His wish was unfulfilled. Twenty minutes after stepping out of the hospital, Jordan woke in painful sobs. Woody went to fetch a doctor.

"You were in a car accident, Jordan," Woody answered, "Do you remember anything?"

She paused for a moment, her face, stricken with a pained look that Woody would never forget, "N-no."

"You were on your way to the Fens," he paused, not wanting to damage her even more with all of the details. He did not want her to know that she was the one who ran the red light and that it was his car that hit her. He would tell her eventually, but not when her physical pain was so excruciating.

"And…"

"And another car hit yours."

She cried out and Woody continued shakily, he tried comforting her, "Your dad and I haven't left your side since you got here."

"When was that?" She croaked

"Four days ago."

"Four days!" She exclaimed. Surprised, she tried to sit up but that only resulted in more pain. Screaming she eased herself back down to the same position that she had slept in.

A bespectacled oriental doctor, entered. Woody took a step back. The doctor began checking her over, he scribbled upon a clipboard in silence while Jordan bombarded him with questions.

"I want to know what's wrong with me," she demanded through gritted teeth.

"Well," the doctor said patiently, "Your prognosis looks promising. Swelling is going down. You should have all of your stitches taken out in a week; the casts have to stay on for at least six weeks though. You will have some scarring, especially on your face and your burned leg. A war wound on your side where your ribs punctured your lung. You are lucky. If it weren't for that seatbelt you were wearing, you'd be a lot worse," he added with a smile.

Jordan was not so sure she could be any worse than what she was feeling. When he had left she turned to Woody. "Tell me what happened."

"Well—"

"And don't spare me the details, I'm pretty sure I can handle it," she said.

"I don't know if I can handle it…" He said, his stomach churning and his face turning slightly olive. He nodded and obediently started telling the story that Nigel, with the help of Jordan's doctors, had pieced together based on her injuries.

"The other car hit your door while your van went off to the right. The airbag went off but your body went sideways into the door. Your arm crushed between the steering wheel and the door and the door broke your leg. Your broken ribs punctured your lung. Your head smashed into the window, breaking the glass. The hot coffee you were holding spilled onto your leg and you probably have whiplash," he finished his monotonous drawl quickly as if he were listing off offences to a criminal.

"That's it?" Jordan asked sardonically as she felt another shoot of pain sift through her entire body.

A nurse entered, sent in by the doctor, feeding Jordan morphine through intravenous, which eased the pain slightly.

"Now dear, try not to move. You'll only make the pain worse." She propped up her pillows and made Jordan more comfortable before bustling off to attend to her next patient.

"You need to shave," she said, more calmly. The drugs were kicking in.

Woody smiled down on her, rubbing his scruffy chin, "Yeah, I guess I do."

Max entered, panting, "The doctor told me—Jordan!"

"Hey dad," she said, her eyes glazing over. She managed a painful half-smile.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up. When did you wake up?" He asked protectively.

"Dad, I'm fine. I woke up a few minutes ago. The nurse came…" Her speech slightly slurred.

"I see that," he grinned, standing by her bed, caressing what was left of her hair.

"I think I need a drink,"

"Don't we all?" he laughed.

--- --- ---

"Max, I just think it's better if we don't tell her the whole story right now. Let her deal with her injuries and then we'll tell her everything," Woody urged. They were walking down the hallway, going to their cars after Jordan had fallen back to sleep. Now that they knew she would be all right, they could both finally let their guard down. However, Woody was reluctant to leave her side.

"She's a big girl, Woody, I'm sure she can handle the truth," Max argued.

Woody was desperate, "It's just that—"

"You want to save your ass in her eyes because it was your car that did this to her?"

Max knew exactly what to say to make Woody feel guilty, "No. I want to tell her myself for the same reason. I just want to do it in my own time," he explained.

Max sighed. "She won't like this, you know that. You may be doing more harm than good."

Woody looked at him a moment, studying his features, "Not if I do it right."

Max was about to separate from him, heading toward his own vehicle, "What is the right way, Woody? You can't hide anything from her, believe me, I've tried."


	6. What's the Worse that I Can Say?

**AN: Sorry it's taken me so long to update! I have a new job and it takes all of the free time I had off my hands and shoves me into the working world! My chapters will come less frequently than I can sometimes hope but I hope you read and like them all the same. Leave me some review candy to keep me going!**

**What's the Worse That I Can Say?**

Jordan lay alone on her bed, the sun setting outside her window staining the sterile hospital walls a soft orange hue. However, the colours did not warm the dark coldness she felt in her heart. She was sick and tired of the scene. She wanted to get out of the hospital and back to her life. She regretted wanting to nail Garret to the wall for sending her out in her condition because she knew that it was half her fault. She would give anything to go back to work; however, she was stuck, immobile for her pain.

She felt cemented to the bed with heavy plaster as her left leg and arm wrapped in casts. Her ribs swaddled in bandages, her right leg taped with gauze. The stinging in her head was unbearable. She hated the drugs she took for the pain.

She wanted to eat real food, not the crap the hospital served her. At least she could feed herself with her right hand, which was more than she could say about bathing. She wanted a real shower, not the cold-sponged strip show she endured with the nurses.

She sighed heavily.

"You look like you could use some cheering up," Garret smiled behind a bouquet of fresh autumn flowers.

"It'll take a lot more than flowers to make me happy," she admitted as he set them on the desk amidst the dead and dying. "Get me some case files to look over or something to pass the time."

Garret grinned slightly, "You would never rest if I did that, and you know it," he said, pulling up the wooden chair and sitting beside her.

"Suit yourself; you'll never hear the end of my constant wanting to get out of this place. I honestly think this place is hell. I would take the morgue any day. At least those people are dead when they're poked and prodded at."

He laughed a little. It pained him to see his friend in such a position, especially when somebody that she cared about had put her there to begin with. His laughs and smiles did not last long. His eyes clouded with a sense of guilt.

Jordan looked at his face, "Garret, I don't blame you. I should have known I wasn't in good enough condition. I thought I could do it and I couldn't. I probably wouldn't even have gone home if you'd told me to," she stated. Smiling a little to lighten the mood she quipped, "Besides, it's nobody's fault but that bastard's. He's the one who got in my way!"

He grinned, a small vein pulsing in his forehead.

--- --- ---

"Garret, don't even think about it," Woody was serious. He had on his interrogation face and his voice was that of distinct authority.

"She has to know, Woody. What would you think if your rolls were switched?"

"I would think that, maybe, she would have wanted to tell me herself," he softened a little, making it seem like he was letting down his guard, "at least, that's what I'm hoping she would do."

"She may very well have, Woody, but she would have told you the first opportunity she got. She has been in hospital for two weeks and you have still neglected to tell her that you were the other person. I am _not_ keeping this secret for you anymore. When she finds out it's your ass on the line, I seriously hope you have a good explanation," he said, making the situation sound as worse as possible so that, perhaps, he could feel guiltier than he already did.

"Garret!" He barked. Then through gritted teeth added, "Don't you dare."

"What are you going to do to me Woody? Lock me up for telling the truth?" Garret threatened, "If _you _won't tell her, I will."

He fumed but did not know what to say. Instead, much like Max had two weeks previously, he began storming out of the Chief ME's office but Garret stopped him as his hand held the doorknob.

"Oh, and Woody?" He paused, picking up a file on his desk and staring him straight in the eyes so that the detective would know that he was completely serious, "I'll be visiting her tonight."

--- --- ---

Garret ground his teeth slightly working out in his mind how he was going to tell her. He did not have to say anything before she asked, "Garret, I know that face. What's wrong?"

He looked up to her with his questioning hazel eyes as if to ask, "Do you really want to know?"

She cocked her head to the side and raised her eyebrows, though painfully, in answer.

"We know who hit your car," he inhaled deeply; this was more difficult than he thought it would be. He figured that, with all the resentment he felt toward Woody for not telling her in the first place, it would be easy to inform her that he had hit her car but he realized, upon seeing her eager expression that he could not predict her reaction and this fact made him nervous.

Squinting her right eye, she urged him on.

"I can't Jordan; I should let that person tell you what happened."

"What?" she exclaimed, "You're going to put me through all the suspense and then say you're not going to tell me? Garret, I have a right to know, now that you've brought it up!"

"I know, I shouldn't have brought it up," he said, standing to leave now that he had agitated her. "Just, ask Woody, he'll know what to say."

Drown in confusion she asked, "What does Woody?—Are you telling me that he?"

Garret averted his eyes, a sure sign that she had guessed it. In a small voice, she asked rhetorically, "Why didn't he tell me?"

"Because he didn't want to put you in anymore pain that you already were in," Garret answered truthfully

Frustrated, she exclaimed, "Well, looks like he did a great job of that." As he had predicted, she turned away from him with attitude. "Why didn't anybody tell me if everybody knew?"

"He wanted us to keep it a secret because he wanted to tell you himself," he answered simply.

"So you all kept this secret for two weeks? Garret, I thought you knew me better than that."

"Why do you think I'm telling you this now?" He asked.

"I don't know, because you want to save your ass? Because you think that, I'll be happy with _you_ for telling me the truth?"

Garret did not know what to say. He understood that she was hurt that everybody she knew and trusted had kept such an important secret from her and lied to her continuously, but she was acting so uncharacteristically.

"Jordan, we all wanted to tell you repeatedly—"

"Not good enough," she said, turning her head to watch the last of the sun dip beneath the horizon. Garret took her actions as a sign to leave, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets after quietly closing the door; he left her to fume.


	7. Remember When You Broke Your Foot

**AN: I ran out of good Helena lyrics so I moved to include the song "I'm Not Okay", another of my favorites, for title chapters! BTW, if you want to listen to their songs, download them, buy their kick-ass CD _or_ go to to listen to some of them. w00t!**

**16 reviews –is giddy—thank you to Keridwen89 and Orlando-Crazy for commenting on chapter 6! You guys rawk!**

**Remember When You Broke Your Foot**

After two weeks of staying bed ridden, the doctor came into Jordan's room and told her that she was healed enough to start physiotherapy. However, having dealt with her personality for the past fortnight, he made her a deal. If she promised to attend one hour of physiotherapy each day for one week, he would judge her ability and if he thought her to be up to par, he would release her from the hospital.

Jordan hated physiotherapy. She felt strong enough to walk by herself but because of the cast on her left leg and the one on her left arm, she lacked enough mobility to be able to maneuver a wheelchair; therefore, she used crutches, which she learned to hobble upon in order to do meager tasks.

The night before her last physiotherapy session, her father came to visit her. "Hey Jor," he exclaimed happily upon entering the room with two fresh cinnamon buns from a local bakery.

Jordan did not even look in his general direction. Already in a bad mood because of the amount of pain she was suffering, she did not want to speak to him or any of his cohorts because of the secrets he held from her. However, Max, Garret and the others from the morgue came to see her against her will.

"I thought you needed something a little different from the hospital food they serve you here so I went to the bakery down the street and—"

"That's nice," she snipped.

Max's shoulders dropped and he sighed, pulling the chair up beside the bed, "What's wrong Jordan? You've been in a bad mood for a week now. We're sorry, what more do you want?"

If she could have shot lasers from her eyes, she would have. The look she gave him was one of near loathing. She took a deep rattling breath and spat, "You knew. You knew the entire time and you didn't tell me. Woody didn't even tell me, Garret eventually told me. Why didn't you tell me? You knew how I would react!"

Max could almost feel her emotions bouncing off the walls she vibrated intensely as tears formed in her eyes, "Nobody told me."

"Jordan," his accented voice was gentle which, as a child, used to soothe her. After the tenth explanation, however, she turned away from him, trying to hide her tears. "I wanted to tell you."

"Then why didn't you?" She demanded through gritted teeth, a tactic she sometimes used to prevent tears from falling.

"Because, Woody wanted to tell you himself, he was only waiting for the right opportunity. Macy was wrong in what he did—"

"He as wrong in telling me the truth?"

"No, he was wrong in going behind Woody's back and telling you despite him," Max had raised his voice slightly in competition.

Jordan scoffed, "Well it doesn't matter, I know now. I know that Woody was the one who hit my car and I know that he hasn't visited since I found out to apologize for not telling me."

To Max, it seemed like the latter hurt her more than everything else did. He sighed, removing one of the cinnamon buns from the paper bag and handing it to her. She received it with muttered thanks and began savoring the sweet spice.

"Do you want him to come and apologize to you?" Max asked after a long silence.

She sighed and turned toward the dark window. "He can go to hell for all I care."

Max figured that she was letting her resentment speak. It seemed to him she had returned to being a teenager in that hospital bed. She felt as if her friends and the entire world were cohering against her and she did not know what to do except erect defenses around the perimeter of her mind and push everybody out of her life. He was thankful that she still let her father behind the walls of her fortress.

She licked her fingers clean of cinnamon flavoured icing, smiling and thanking Max again for the treat.

"You're welcome." He paused for a long moment, contemplating how to bring up what he had come to say. "Jordan?"

She turned to him looking into his green eyes with boredom. "I knew you didn't come here just to give me a cinnamon bun."

Max was un-amused, "I don't always have an ulterior motive. I just wanted to know what your plans are for after you get out of here."

"Well, considering I can't work with these casts on, I was going to go home, turn on the TV and not move for three weeks until I come back here, and get them taken off. And then, I'm not leaving the house for another couple of months until my hair grows back."

Max sighed empathetically. She had to shave her entire head because the doctors had removed patches of her hair to stitch her scalp. To Max, she looked like she had undergone chemotherapy treatment. "Well, what would you say to moving back in with me for those three weeks, so that I can help you out?"

"Dad, I don't need any help," she said, eliciting a smile. "The physiotherapy is helping me cope." This conversation was going better than Max had planned. He had expected her to explode with frustration at him offering her help. However, he had not predicted that she would understand her need for charity and turn his offer down gently.

He sighed. There was no use in arguing the matter, he did not intend to push her away, "Well, if you need any help, you just call me. I've got nothing else to do with my time."

"What are you talking about? You've got the Pogue!" Jordan exclaimed. It seemed her anger from before had completely dissipated.

He smiled, "I've got a good staff at the Pogue to take care of the place. Speaking of which, I have to get back to The Pogue for now, Friday nights are busy, you know. I'll be sure to tell Woody what you said," he winked, trying to sift another smile out of his daughter.

It didn't work, she merely turned away mumbling a goodbye.


	8. I'm Okay

**AN: Keridwen89—Jordan can't be mad at Woody for hitting her car because she has already accepted that it was totally her fault. And yes, her hair is gorgeous, but I'm all about major character revamps . **

**Thanks to Orlando-Crazy and Eternalgorithm (I hope I spelled your name right)**

**More AN at bottom**

**I'm Okay**

Woody tossed and turned in bed that night. He could not catch a wink of sleep because he was worried about what Jordan thought of him. _I've been so stupid! _ He thought, rolling over to check the time. One in the morning, five minutes after the last time he had checked the digital reading.

_How could I have possibly thought that she would be less angry if I did not tell her? _ He slammed his head back on his flat pillow as a worm of pain wound through his temple, _great, now I have a headache._ He got out of bed and felt his way to the bathroom in the dark, blinding himself with the light as he searched for pain medication.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his short, greasy, hair even messier than usual. His eyes drawn down his cheeks, he sighed. Every muscle in his body ached from a hard day at the office. Instead of visiting Jordan and having to deal with the problems he had created, he poured himself into his work by picking up more cases than any one detective should have to handle.

He wondered where she was at that moment. _She's probably still in hospital. _While he was working with Nigel at the morgue, he had pulled Garret aside and asked when her hospital release date was and he begrudgingly replied that her physiotherapy ended tomorrow. He could have tapped Nigel for the information; he probably would have been a little nicer about it than Garret, but he felt that, because Garret was Jordan's best friend, he would try to get back on the good side.

_Why does everybody hate me for not telling her?_ He pondered pouring himself a tall glass of water from the kitchen taps, popping the white pills into his mouth and chugged the entire glass. He realized that he posed a stupid question, after all, he had lied, and she knew it. He was a hypocrite, with how much he hated people who lied and schemed, but his fib was not intentionally to hurt her. He had lied to protect her. _I was going to tell her eventually, why did Garret have to go poking his nose in where it doesn't belong?_

He sighed again, laying his pained head back on the pillow in order to try catching a few winks before breaking the day with more homicide work.

--- --- ---

"You're all ready to go?"

Jordan sighed, "Finally."

She swung her legs over the bed as Garret handed her the crutches. She looked around for her things, "I've got them Jordan," her dad said, holding up her purse and the teddy bears she had received from her friends at the morgue.

Garret made to help her off the bed, but she snapped, "I can do it myself!"

He was not surprised at all by her reaction. Why should the accident have changed her independent attitude? In fact, if it had changed, Jordan's perseverance may have amplified and may continue to do so until she accepts no help from her friends, colleagues or her father at all. Garret feared the worst for her.

She stood tentatively, and adjusted the crutches so that they rested comfortably under her arms. She held tightly onto the right assistant however, because of the injuries on her left side, like her broken rib and cast bound arm, she had to hold the left crutch loosely and away from her body. Garret was amazed at how she handled herself with such ease.

She looked so different, Garret hardly recognized her anymore when he came to visit. The doctor removed the stitches from her face and scalp. Her scars looked like red streaks permanently tattooed across her head. Her brunette locks, which used to frame her face and fall playfully about her shoulders, were missing, replaced by a rugged army fashion. He had never seen the look of pain flash across her face as she accidentally bumped her ribcage or stepped too long on her cast.

Her hair would eventually grow back and her scars would disappear, but, to Garret, it seemed as if the gleam in her eyes would never return. She smiled but only to make the best of her situation. It did not reflect sunshine in the eyes of her friends.

Refusing any help offered to her by Garret or her father, she made her way, while they followed, to the main exit of the hospital. Garret drove Jordan and Max to her apartment.

"Dad, really, I don't need any help," she insisted, waving goodbye to Garret as he drove away from her Pearle Street apartment.

"How are you going to take your things up there, huh?" He asked, "Do you want me to just drop them here for you? I'll walk you to your door and then I'll go home, I promise."

"Fine, as long as you promise."

"Well, it seems like you just don't want me around!" He joked.

Jordan rolled her eyes, "I haven't been alone for three weeks, dad. I think I deserve a little 'me' time."

"Alright, if you insist but you know that if you—"

"I'll call you if I need you, dad. Don't worry about me," she said, pushing her heavy red door open with her right side.

He came inside and put her things in the living area, "Here good?"

"Yes that's fine," she sighed.

He came to her with open arms and she received them in a daughterly fashion before forcing him out of her apartment.

"OK, I'll go now, you're—"

"Yes!"

"Just making sure," he said jovially. He was happy to see her home again, though he would rather have seen her without all the pain she suffered. He said good-bye and, hoping she would be all right, left her to her own devices.

**Well, give me your opinion; I know this chapter was a drag. I make you wait like a week for a chapter and this is what you get! I'm sorry! I promise the next one will be better! Trust me! Review now GO! 3 reviews and I'll post the next one (when it's done of course lol)**


	9. Well if You Wanted Honesty

**AN: Enlightenment was such a good ep! I'm so glad to see Woody and Jordan separate! Lol, you are all going to think I'm _crazy_ for saying that… I was thinking the show was losing its touch with the same old WJ story line; a little separation will spice things up! Jealousy perhaps? But I don't see the chemistry between Jill and Charles Mesur… well, that's my rant lol**

**Enternalgorithm: don't worry, it'll all work out lol**

**KittyDoggyLover: awwww thank you! You're so kind.**

**And to the rest of you as well, paigelynn, Keridwen89, Susan Rose Potter, and Orlando-crazy thank you for commenting, I really appreciate it! Thank you for waiting, I hope you all like this chapter!**

**Well if You Wanted Honesty**

Jordan nearly collapsed where she stood. Relieved to be back in her apartment, she wanted to kiss the dusty floor, instead she made her way to the couch, propped her crutches up against the side and elevated her tired feet.

_Who knew it would be so much work just to get up to where I live,_ flipping on the television, she sighed.

After waking, hours later, feeling refreshed from a TV induced nap, Jordan felt hungry. She hobbled to her refrigerator only to find that she had no food. Three weeks ago, she had intended to go grocery shopping since that time, what remaining food she had left had gone foul. She picked up the plastic carton of congealing milk off the shelf, lifting her nose with it; she tossed it into the garbage. Her vegetables were nearly soil in the drawers and the bread on the counter housed millions of fungi colonies. Even her cheese had seen better days.

She contemplated ordering in, it was fast but not cheap, she had been out of work for the past three weeks, and her rent had strapped her for cash. She flipped her jacket over her shoulders. There was a convenience store down the block. She was sure she could make it; after all, it had been a longer trek to the hospital's front doors from her room.

She looked in the mirror before leaving. _I'm a wreck_, she admitted. For the first time, tears of longing came to her eyes. She wanted to be normal again. She did not feel the same, she wanted her hair back she missed the zeal she had for life. She replaced it with a hat.

"Do you need any help ma'am?" The pubescent boy at the front counter asked her as she struggled with the cold-room door.

"No thanks, I can manage," she said, carefully taking a carton of milk from the roller. After every item, she went back to the counter to place it. She was careful not to buy too many things, in case she could not carry it all back.

"Is that everything for you ma'am?" he asked politely. Jordan wished he would stop calling her ma'am, she felt it aged her considerably.

"I think I'll take this too," she said, placing a chocolate bar onto the counter as well.

"Your total comes to twenty-one, twenty-six. Thank you, seventy-four cents is your change. Do you need a hand out to your car with that?"

"I didn't bring my car, unless you want to help me to my apartment," she said.

The boy blushed wordlessly, handing her a doubled bag of groceries.

The bag was heavier than she had expected it to be and it unbalanced her considerably. She constantly felt as if she were going to fall over. She could not wait to get back to her apartment and relax. She was beginning to think that being too independent was a bad thing and that she should have just ordered a pizza.

She was at the front door of her apartment. She leaned against the wall, leaning her head against the brick she shivered with pain. She almost wished one of her neighbors, who were mostly private in their ways, would have a sudden bout of charity and help her carry her bag to her apartment.

She turned to open the door and a dark figure burst out before her, not knocking her down, but checking her left side.

"Watch where you're going lady!" He exclaimed angrily.

If the breath were not knocked from her lung, she would have retaliated at the figure walking away from her. Instead, the tears welled in her eyes and she was unable to say anything. She stood, shaking on the spot feeling unbelievably helpless.

"Jordan?"

She jumped at her name, the pain in her chest throbbing

"Woody!" she exclaimed, trying to hide her face by looking at the closed door, she struggled to open it, and so Woody reached forward opening it for her. She hobbled ahead of him, muttering her thanks. She was so ashamed of him seeing her vulnerable that she rushed to the elevator.

He followed her desperately, "Jordan, I want to talk to you."

"Well, I'm not in the mood for a talk right now," she stated shakily with a hint of finality.

Woody would not take no for an answer as he was determined to apologize to her. However, he did not know how to begin. He had not predicted his apology would come in an elevator. He took a deep breath, shifting his weight to his left foot.

"Do you want me to hold your bag for you?" He asked awkwardly.

She held it out for him reluctantly and was relieved of the heavy burden on her arm. She could maneuver her crutches with ease now, and when the elevator stopped at her floor, she quickly hobbled to her door and opened it. Woody followed her in uninvited, placing the groceries on the counter, he voluntarily began putting them away for her.

"What are you doing?" She asked, taken aback.

"I'm helping you out, what were _you_ doing? You should have been resting, not shopping," he reprimanded her lightly as she stood behind the island counter.

"There was no food," tears were stinging her nose as she tried to hold them back, "I got here and everything was rotten, so I had to go shopping," she sniffed as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Woody stopped handling her groceries and turned to her. She stood on the spot crying, "Who would have known that something I do so often would be such a burden! Then there was this stupid guy who came out of the apartment and nearly knocked me over, he didn't even care he just—" she dropped her crutches to the floor, depending on the counter to hold her weight, she broke down.

Woody ran to her, he put his arm around her shoulder and she fell into him, trusting him to hold her. She cried into her chest, as she had not done in the past three weeks. She had cried out and tears may have formed in her eyes during times of intense pain, but she had not surrendered until that moment in Woody's arms.

"When I look at myself in the mirror, I don't even recognize myself!" She bawled.

He soothed her with gentle words but her statement hit him the hardest. "I know, Jordan, one day you'll look the same, everything will be okay."

"I want it to be okay right now!" she exclaimed.

He rubbed her back and caressed the back of her neck. He had to admit that he missed her soft brunette hair but he would never say that to her.

"I brought you Thai food, do you want some?" He whispered softly into her ear. She nodded into his chest, taking deep breaths trying to get her emotions under control.

"OK," he said, picking up her crutches for her, he left her standing, "Take a seat on the sofa, I'll get it for you." He began sifting through the bags that Jordan had not noticed him bring in. She was so preoccupied that she had not even smelled the distinct odor of Thai's spicy cuisine. He handed her a Styrofoam container and some chopsticks before taking his own and sitting beside her.

They ate in relative silence and when they had finished Woody volunteered clean up and offered to take out her garbage. She nodded, ashamed that he thought she could not do these things herself.

"I really can, Woody, you don't have to," she said, taking her crutches and standing.

"No, Jordan," he said forcefully, "I want to help you, it's the least I can do."

"The least you can do?" She said, unsure of what he meant. Then the pieces clicked together in her mind and she remembered what he had done, or rather, what he had not done. She had been so preoccupied with self-pity that she had forgotten why she was so angry with him. "Why didn't you tell me Woody?" she asked calmly, with a hint of temper in her voice.

Woody suddenly felt very uncomfortable, as if he had worn out his welcome. His reason for coming, bearing food to soften the blow, had arrived.

"I meant, to tell you, Jordan. It tore me up inside that I couldn't get the words out whenever I talked to you," he admitted.

Jordan could sense he was telling the truth, perhaps it was his anguished tone of voice. However, no matter the way he felt, or how much he wanted to make it up to her, she was not in a forgiving mood.

"My family and friends withheld the truth so that you could have your opportunity. You had every opportunity and you still did not tell me. What is so hard about coming to me and saying, 'Hey Jordan, sorry it was my car you hit,'" She exclaimed, "I mean, I've already come to terms that it's my fault, all you had to do was tell me."

"Jordan, I wanted to, but I blamed myself. When I saw you trapped in that van, I didn't know what to do. I was so afraid. It was my fault."

Jordan shook her head, unbelieving. "Three weeks, Woody. You've had three weeks."

His head, hung with disappointment in himself, "I know it's my biggest regret." He took up the garbage, replacing the bag with a fresh one and walked toward the door. He paused, fiddling with the handle, and said, "I hope you can forgive me, Jordan. I've been stupid."

"I'm not going to say you haven't been."

"Just do me one favor," she scoffed, "just, _please_ accept some help from your father at least until you get better. I'd like to help you but it doesn't seem like you really want me to anymore." Those being his final words, he slipped behind the door, shutting it softly.


	10. Every Heart You Break

**AN: Wow, it's been a while since I could finish this chapter! I started it last week but this is honestly the first opportunity I've had to get on the computer and finish it up. Work is a demon, taking my soul along for a ride in hell. I work 10 hr shifts 1-11pm or 3pm-1am and then I sleep… work and sleep, sleep and work until me 3 blessed days off yay! I had to hurry home last night because I forgot to ask my brother to tape CJ 8 so I could watch it when I got home at 11:30, instead I had to watch the last half hr… but it just wasn't the same… --tear—**

**Anyway, thanks for all the nice reviews you guys, you make writing this story worth it, after all, if I received no reviews I probably wouldn't come back to it week after week (working on bits here and there at work lol) I'm just supremely sorry that the chapters are so far inbetween.**

**Special thanks to KittyDoggyLover, Orlando-Crazy and Kerdiwen89 for reviewing chapter 9!**

**Oh and Keridwen, I added a little something at the end because of what you can't wait for lol, though you may be supremely disappointed that it's ridden with angst.**

**Every Heart You Break**

"Sometimes, no wait, scratch that. Most of the time, I don't understand her," Woody admitted over a glass of scotch the next evening.

Max sighed wordlessly, putting the bottle back in the cupboard and joining Woody at the kitchen table. "She has been difficult, that one, but maybe, you shouldn't try to understand. If you were to go in depth about Jordan, I think that you would find she is more complicated than you are willing to deal with. Sometimes I think I get my daughter, but then she'll do something else to confuse the hell out of you."

Woody shrugged, "You're right about that."

They each took another sip of scotch. Max leaned back in his chair, "So tell me something, why was yesterday the first time you've visited her for the past week?"

Woody knew the question was coming, but the fact still had not prepared an answer. He bowed his head shamefully looking up to Max with blue puppy eyes. Sighing he shook his head, "I don't have an answer to that. I guess I thought couldn't handle it. I guess I was a little intimidated. But aren't we all when it comes to Jordan?" He raised his glass in a mock toast.

"So you were acting just like she would," Max respectfully returned though for a different reason. "But I know what you mean."

There was a short silence between the two generations. Max sometimes felt as if Woody could almost have been his son. He had always wanted a son. After he had forced himself to send James away, he felt cheated out of the experience. If only Emily had not been so ill, maybe he would have had a whole family. He would have to settle for the next best thing, a son in law; something he was not so sure would ever happen if Jordan kept on the way she did.

The silence was comfortable but Woody had burning issues he had come to discuss with Max. He said, "Not that it's really any of my business. But I think that she needs help." Max opened his mouth to retaliate and tell the young detective that to convince Jordan to do anything was completely insane; instead, he waited for his explanation. Woody told him the events from the time he had arrived until he had left. "When I got there she looked pretty close to tears. She might not want help, but she obviously needs it. She's going to get herself killed accidentally."

Max sighed, he knew he was right but there was no way, short of kidnapping her, that he could get her to stay with him until she recovered. "Why didn't you tell me this yesterday?"

"Trust me; I wanted to, but my whole, 'ignoring Jordan through work' thing caught up with me. I closed two cases last night after talking to her and this is the first opportunity I've had to get out of the office." It sure looked like he was telling the truth. His drooping eyes glazed over with lack of sleep. The stress lines on his face told the rest of the story.

"Well, I'll talk to her again about what we've discussed but I can't promise you anything. Her moving in here won't change her attitude; I can tell you right now, she'll just feel helpless and dependant."

Woody polished off the scotch in his glass and thanked Max. He prepared to return home and catch some restless sleep but Max stopped him saying, "There's one thing I can't help. I can't do anything about your relationship with her."

Woody averted his eyes, staring at a spot on the floor, "I know. But there's nothing I can do about it either. She's aware of how I feel and she knows that I'd do anything for her."

"Your actions this week didn't prove that. I suggest you apologize and hope for the best," Max advised. "That's all you can do."

Woody nodded morosely and disappeared into the darkness, Max silently shut the door behind him thinking he would still make a great son in law.

--- --- ---

"What are you doing here, Jordan?"

"Nothing, just looking through my cases, seeing if they were—"

"I gave them to Bug they're fine. In fact, never have your cases been done more by the book."

Jordan gave him a look of mock loathing, continuing to flip through the papers on her desk. It felt good to be back in the office, normal even. Two days ago, she was in hospital and now she was at her desk looking over reports. She never thought she would enjoy paperwork more.

"Go home," said Garret.

"No," she said.

"Do I have to ban you from this office? You're not well enough to be working, Jordan!" he exclaimed. He closed his eyes and unclenched his jaw repeating a mantra Lily had taught him silently to himself in order to keep his temper in check. "I'm not making a suggestion. It's an order."

Jordan looked up to him, eyebrow raised. She was a mess and Garret hated forcing her to do things that she didn't want to do but to work in her condition would have been suicide and he wasn't about to assist her death.

"I'll give you a ride," he said.

Reluctantly she stood and followed him out of the office. There were times when she would have stood her ground to him, when she would have fought over whether or not she felt well enough to be at work. That period was gone now though. She felt she had left her spirit in that van when it had crashed. Sometimes, like today and her idea of going to work to catch up on paperwork before returning full time, she felt it. The feeling lingered inside like a small flame about to drown in wax but before long, the other emotions, the new ones that had cropped up and overtook her; she had no other choice but to follow him out of the office. Those times she felt like sitting in a full bathtub and accidentally dropping her useless hair dryer into the water with her.


	11. It's Better Off this Way

**AN: W00t! Another chapter in less than a week, I'm on fiiiiire! Lol thanks to all 30 reviews! I've never had so many on a story before! Yay –excited-- special thanks to Orlando-crazy and KittyDoggyLover for commenting on chapter 10! I hope you like this one!**

**It's Better off this Way**

The next morning, as Max prepared to leave his house on a visit to Jordan's, his phone rang. He dropped his boots by the door and went to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Max, I'm glad I caught you."

"Macy, what's up?" He asked shortly. Max was still slightly bitter about the fact that Garret had forced his daughter to drive under extreme exhaustion.

Garret sighed deeply, "It's about Jordan."

Max shifted his weight against the kitchen counter, "What about her? I was just about to leave to go see how she's doing."

"Good, I hope that you can talk some sense into her. She was here, at the morgue, yesterday. Let's just say she's eager to get back to work and I had to send her home."

"What?" Max exclaimed, "Well, thank you for calling, Garret."

He returned the phone to its cradle without saying goodbye and before any further interruptions; he slipped his boots on and left the house. He hoped he could convince her to accept his help; it was not the first time that he felt it was her life hung in the balance.

--- --- ---

He rang the buzzer and waited a few minutes for her to answer the door. He waited longer than he deemed necessary because it should not take five minutes for her to get out of bed or off the couch and slip on a robe to hobble to the door in.

He pounded upon the door calling her name, "Let me in Jordan."

When plan B failed, his heart began to race and he fumbled with his keys. He feared the worse; she was hurt, unable to help herself or, dare he think it, dead before he was able to offer his aid. He opened the heavy door. "Jordan?"

Her apartment was in shambles. As if a mini, natural disaster had swept through the place wreaking havoc upon all of Jordan's things. Piles of pizza boxes were everywhere, overturned, on the couch. Soda cans littered the counters, table and floor. Clothes hung from lampshades, table corners and doorknobs. For the second time in the past weeks, the thought of Jordan returning to her teenaged years formed in his mind.

"Jordan where are you?" He called timidly, closing the door behind him. There was no sign of life in the living room, but a soft sound coming from the bedroom, which was in similar condition to the living room. The bedspread was falling off the bed, her closet doors swung open and clothes pouring out everywhere. The alarm clock's digital numbers flashed 10:06 and a radio DJ smoothly delivered the day's weather. The bathroom door closed.

"Jordan?" He ventured, knocking on the door.

"What?" She snapped.

"It's your father," he said.

"I know who you are. I heard the buzzer ringing, there's a reason I didn't answer it," she exclaimed.

"I came to talk to you."

"Just like everybody else. I'm fine, you can go now."

He grew frustrated. In all the years he was a cop, he felt he had never dealt with a perpetrator as difficult as his daughter was. "Jordan, I'm not leaving until we can talk, and not through the door."

"Fine, I'll be out in ten. Go sit on the couch, but move the pizza boxes first," she said, her voice echoing off the bathroom tiles. She wet her purple sponge again and pressed it against her broken arm, trying not to get her cast wet. _This is far more difficult than the nurses make it out to be_, she thought, sticking her head in the shower and wetting her face. She gently went over the burn on her right leg. She toweled off and shivered. She quickly dressed in her flannel pajamas, the only clothes she had worn since she got home. The pajama pants and a pair of baggy khaki's were the only pants she owned that fit over her leg cast.

She went out to meet her father.

"It looks like hurricane Jordan passed through here," he commented.

She did not reply at first. She sat gently onto the couch before saying, "I was a little angry last night."

Max would suspect that it was an understatement. It would have taken her hours to make this mess. Patiently waited for her to continue but she did not. "Would it have anything to do with Garret sending you home from work yesterday?"

Her eyes flashed with furious pain, which she tried to cover up.

"Jordan, you need help."

"I am not an invalid. I can do this by myself," she stated forcefully.

"Then I dare you to clean up this mess," he paused, "Woody came over last night and told me what happened with you the other night, and then Garret called me this morning and—"

"So now you're all against me, treating me like I'm helpless."

His voice began to rise as he retorted, but he stopped when she had shaken her head and scoffed. He continued gently, "I only want what is best for you, Jordan. I do not want to make you feel less than what you are. I understand that you can take care of yourself but going to work in the condition you're in, how is that being productive? Come to the house, let me help you."

Her face softened with acceptance. Max knew that she only needed to see how much more difficult she was making her situation by being stubborn.

"Only until those casts come off," he promised, "I don't think I could stand you any longer."

A soft laugh emitted from her, "I know what you mean."


	12. Carry on This Way

**AN: I'm so sorry for the long delay, it's been a hectic week at work so I've been tired and have been sleeping in instead of writing. Also, these past couple of days I've chosen to be creative in other ways other than writing because I had the most horrible writer's block, but I think I've got it figured out now. Sorry, for the boring chapters that don't really seem to be getting anywhere… There'll be some excitement coming up, I promise! **

**Special thanks to KittyDoggyLover, Keridwen89, Daynaaa, and Orlando Crazy for commenting! You know how I love 'em!**

**Carry on This Way**

It seemed to Jordan, that her words had a double meaning. At first she did not quite know what she meant with the phrase to her father, "I know what you mean," but the meaning became clearer in the following days. She was finding it harder to manage by herself; the more she tried to be independent the more difficult menial tasks became. On the other hand, perhaps she was not finding it harder, only the same as she had when she was alone, but without the spark to want to do it independently. To make matters worse, Max was adamant on helping her with everything.

"Dad, I'm fine, just, please, give me my space," she pleaded strictly.

"Jordan, I'm only here to help you. You can't do this by yourself," he said.

"Yes I can," with her right hand, she lifted the can opener to the metal container and squeezed the handle together, pressing the sharp metal into the can. She switched hands but, with her cast, found it difficult to maintain the pressure required to keep the mechanism running.

Angrily, she forced it into her father's hand.

He simply turned the gear and handed her the soup, still canned. Resentfully, she slopped it into a pot, added the proportional amount of water and began stirring. She did not say a word of thanks to Max. Her temper was as hot as the element on which she heated her soup.

"Jordan, there's no shame in asking for a little bit of help," Max said after a long while.

Without looking up from the morning paper, un-answering, she slurped her soup cynically, trying to escape from conversation. A long silence followed, the only sound from the table was that of her spoon ringing against the side of the stoneware bowl and the gentle flap of pages as she turned them.

"Is this a problem? You staying here does that bother you?" He persisted.

Jordan sighed. It seemed every corner she turned led to another argument. She chose her words carefully, not wanting to offend her father who, though she had had about enough of already, she still cared for.

"There is no problem with me staying here. Remember, when I came back from L.A., I stayed here. I have nothing against you or this house; it's me. It always has been."

"That's very typical of you to say,"

"Typical? What do you mean?"

"You sound like you're breaking up with a guy. The whole, 'it's not you, it's me,' analogy, is a little dry now. Let's have a real, adult conversation."

Jordan, slightly taken aback that he would see through her so clearly, was reluctant to continue the conversation at all. She preferred to keep to herself on such matters, but it seemed that she was backed into a corner, her father holding the pitchfork of truth.

"This is a real, adult conversation. We're talking aren't we? Not shouting, no signs of a fist fight, or mud balls."

"You know what I mean," he said exasperatedly, taking a seat at the table beside her, "tell me how you feel about living here with me; you say that you have nothing against me or this house, yet you're so unhappy."

"Wow, Stiles moment right there," Jordan scoffed. Never had her father acted so uncharacteristically. "Do you want me to go lie down on your couch and reveal my innermost thoughts and feelings?"

Max shook his head, "You're unbelievable."

"No, you see, you're unbelievable. When did you start caring so much?" She asked, her voice dampened by disdain. She drank the last of her soup and positioned her crutches under her arms, balancing the bowl in nimble fingers; she brought it to the sink. She wandered to another part of the house, hoping her father would not follow.

To her disappointment, he pursued the conversation, "I've always cared about you, you're my daughter. The question is when did you stop caring about me?"

His question hit her hard; she thought for a moment before answering, "I never stopped caring about you either. Trust, maybe." Her last words had an edge to them, which made Max feel ashamed.

"We've been through this. I've done things—"

"And kept secrets—"

"That I wish I could do over; but I did it all to protect you."

"Well, if protection is what this is all about then it was in vain, I don't need protection. I can protect myself; I can take care of myself."

"Damn it, Jordan, when are you going to admit that you need help?"

"I did, when I moved in here with you!" She raised her voice slightly. "Or are you talking in the mental sense?"

"No, I'm not talking in the mental sense," he said softly. He closed his eyes, organizing his thoughts. He felt like going into another room, ending their eternal battle by just giving her what she demanded, but he remembered Woody's fearful words about her accidental death and the heart pumping fear he had personally felt when he went into her silent apartment. Taking a deep breath he continued, "Tell me how you feel about living here."

"You brought me here, you wanted to help me. I wanted to stay at home, but I was pretty much dragged here."

"You came of your own free will," he reminded her.

"Only to appease you and Garret and Woody; I was tired of people doing things in my house, taking out the trash and carrying my groceries up the stairs. I feel like a grown up child here. I can't do anything or get out of the house without an adult present to help me. I feel trapped."

She was visibly shaking. She leaned her crutches against the couch and one threatened to fall, in a fury she tossed it to the ground and fell into the sofa. Her lung began to ache.

"Jordan, the doctors told you not to over exert yourself."

"How do they know what over exertion to me is?"

Max eyed her warily; there was a fire in her eyes, like the fire of a fierce grounding all those years ago. The fire that was present after her mother had been murdered, the flames that burned when she was passionate about something. He felt that it was time he left her alone. He had done enough already.

--- --- ---

She felt like a prisoner within herself. 'Only three more weeks,' she kept reminding herself, with every change of the channel, every meal she ate, and every person that came to take pity upon her.

"God, how many times a day is CSI on?" she asked herself.

"Twelve point three times actually," said a familiar voice.

Jordan looked up; Woody was standing in the threshold to the kitchen. She rolled her eyes and turned back to the TV, "Rhetorical question."

Woody grinned sheepishly. Her father may have backed off since last week but Woody had been just as stubborn and apologetic.

"Come to spread more sympathy? Fluff up my pillows maybe?" She asked cynically.

Woody sighed, coming into the room, "No, but I brought some pizza."

Jordan's mouth watered, but she declined. "I'm not hungry," she lied.

Woody gave her one of his looks that told her that he did not believe her. He took a seat next to her on the sofa, but not so close as to make it look like he wanted to be close to her. He opened the box and the aroma of pepperoni and greasy cheese filled her nostrils. Woody broke a piece off, gestured toward her and said, "You're sure?" She nodded grumpily. "Well I hope you don't mind if I dig in, I'm starved!"

Dig in he did, he ate a quarter of the pizza before Jordan caved in and took a slice, picking at the congealed cheese and meat mixture. It was still a little warm so the cheese stretched as she removed the pepperoni from the top flinging in all directions, splashing tomato sauce all over Woody's dress shirt. Jordan laughed and, after the initial shock, so did Woody.


	13. So Long and Goodnight

**AN: Here is an interesting chapter I hope you are pleased with. I've come out of my wb by getting a few other ideas off my chest (the control me and take over my life! I can't help it!)**

**Special thanks to those who commented, I don't have a list of you with me right now, though I'm sure that it's my most faithful readers! Thank you very much; I hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

**So Long and Goodnight**

"Was that Woody?" Max asked. He had steered clear of the room the entire time Woody visited. It was his way of pushing the two together.

Jordan, still slightly miffed at him, decided to let the pizza box speak for itself. She paid more attention to the encore presentation of CSI Miami on TV.

Max thought it better to change the subject, "Why are you watching that crap, you know it's all fake.

Jordan mumbled an agreement. Max shrugged, she obviously was in no mood to talk. "I'm going out for a bit, Jordan."

There was no answer from the living room. Max shook his head and left.

--- --- ---

Woody did not feel like going back to his apartment. He felt as if he had made progress with Jordan and was feeling good about himself, as if anything were possible, as if he could solve a crime he had been working to solve for a month.

The criminal, Jarvis Poltski, had been eluding the authorities for a month, ever since he had ruthlessly murdered his ex-girlfriend and his brother when he found them sleeping together. It was a scene Woody would never forget; the blood splattered carelessly on the walls, two bodies, tortured and the killed on a bed in the east part of town. He had a strong motive and forensic evidence tying him to the case. The problem was finding him.

Woody felt that every move he made was like pieces in a chess game, he felt like a pawn trying to take down a rook. He had spent countless hours on watch duty but Jarvis had never shown his face. He was about ready to give up on the case except whenever he tried; there was another clue, something else to light the fire of the hunt in Woody.

He felt good, like he could do anything, until three hours after he had left Max's house, he got a call that would change everything.

"Max, hey, how's Jordan?"

"Woody, I think you should come here, quickly," his voice was shaky, like he was scared, but there was a hint of authority in it as well, as if he was ordering him to go back to his place. Woody did not like it, not one bit.

"Aren't you going to tell me what this is all about?"

"You're going to see what it's all about when you get your ass over here!"

Max hung up the phone. His anger was still ringing in Woody's ears. Woody sighed, thinking that it could not be anything good.

--- --- ---

He arrived twenty minutes later; Max was waiting for him at the front door. "You are the slowest cop I have ever met!" He ridiculed.

Woody's temper was flaring and the comments were not helping. "What is this about, Max?"

"It's about my daughter."

"Jordan?" Woody asked.

"Yeah the only one I've got, where is she?"

"Where is she?" Woody repeated, confused, "You were here when I left, weren't you? You should know better than me."

"Take a look in here."

Woody took a step into the room, Jordan's temporary room. It looked like a southern tropical hurricane had ripped through it. At first glance, with all of the clothes strewn on the floor, it looked as if Jordan had thrown a tantrum. On closer inspection, there was broken glass and droplets of blood in places. A rock on the bed alerted Woody to the smashed window.

"I'm calling backup, you call the morgue," Woody said urgently. He had a few guesses at who would do something like this, but he would not say them aloud to Max just yet.


	14. I'm Not Okay

**AN: Loving it? I think that so far, this is my favorite chapter, the story has come a long way, I really did not expect for it to take this turn but it's totally taken over now! Wow, I've got 46 comments so far greatest achievement ever lol thank you to everybody who commented on chapter 13 (there was seven of you!) I jumped up and down every time I got an email notification of a review lol anyway, onto the chapter:**

It was a cold night and Jordan was freezing, being tossed into the back of a pickup did not help.

_Chloroform_, Jordan guessed as she stirred. Her mind muddled, she could scarcely remember what had happened at her father's house, but suddenly in the form of shapes and light, it all came flooding back to her.

She had been peacefully watching TV when she heard glass smashing in her room, she had assumed it was her father's cat, which he had bought to keep him company but was more of a nuisance than anything. She hobbled to her room, thinking to herself that it was only a short week and a half more until the doctors remove her casts. She could live with that, right? She would have to wait longer for her now half inch long hair to grow to its full length, but it would not be so bad. Stupid cat.

Before she knew it, she was in a fight for her life. She threw everything at the stranger in her room she could get her hands on, the basket of freshly cleaned clothes, bottles of perfume, and bottles of lotion from her dresser, but she knew that the efforts were futile; she could never get away on her crutches no matter how fast she went. He ripped the crutches out of her grasp one at a time and threw them aside, breaking a hole in the wall. He came to her slowly, his face was not masked and Jordan remembered his dark eyes glimmering with anticipation, his crooked smile sent shivers down her spine. He sprayed something from a small bottle in her face and she fell unconscious.

She had glimpses of different places and situations since then but they always followed with the spray bottle and she could remember no more.

_Chloroform_, she repeated in her mind. The truck bumped along what she figured was rough pavement. She groaned as she came to.

She tried to sit up but was suddenly aware of the presence with her. He shoved her head down, her forehead slammed into the truck bed, which, she now realized, was covered with mud, hay and manure. His fingers dug into her scars and he bent his ear close to hers. His harsh voice was hardly audible over the rumble of the truck as he said, "Keep down, bitch and stay quiet if you know what's good for you."

Her screams muffled into a gagging cloth.

He gave her head one last push before letting her go, she nodded quickly, tears developing in her eyes. She held them back, determined to be strong in the presence of her captor. Her eyes darted around for anything familiar, however, the night was dark with no streetlamps and she could scarcely see past the rim of the truck. She saw dark trees flash by in numbers_. The freeway?_ she guessed silently.

She wondered if they were still in Boston, in Massachusetts for that matter, which direction they were traveling. Was his accomplice driving?

"That's far enough," he said, rapping on the top of the truck. She panicked wondering if these were her last moments, the only ones she had left in her life, hands and feet tied in the bed of a truck with a kidnapper. He sprayed Jordan with more chloroform from the bottle.

To Jordan, it seemed like moments later when she awoke in the back of a different truck. She groaned; her head was pounding now. _Has he beaten me?_ She wondered. _No, it's just my head_.

This time, when she awoke, she found her hands tied behind her back.

She looked around for her captor. He sat propped uncomfortably on the side of the truck. His eyes seemed closed, his head drooped, Jordan vaguely wondered if he were dead or asleep. When she stirred, he awoke, his cold eyes gleaming. His smile reminded her of the murderer in _The Shining_. She shivered uncontrollably. The night was cold and she had bare arms. She wanted to make conversation with him, try to convince him to let her go, but she had a feeling there was nothing she could say to change his mind.

As if knowing that she wanted to speak with him, he freed her lips, warning her that if she called out, she would be gutted, much in the same way he had murdered his previous victims. "Where are you taking me?" she whispered with an unused voice.

"That's for me to know and for you to find out," he said. Jordan could not tell by his tone whether he was trying to be nice, or if this entire ordeal were a game to him.

Calmly and without emotion she asked, "Why are you doing this? I don't even know you."

He chuckled, "No, I suppose you don't." He extended his hand as if she were to take it and make friends with him. He laughed and pulled it away saying, "I guess you're a little tied up at the moment." Jordan supposed he genuinely thought he was funny. "My name is Jarvis Angler," he grinned, flashing his yellowed teeth. Jordan looked at him. He was not ugly, in fact, at one time he may have been handsome. As Jordan saw him, middle aged, he seemed more dirty than unattractive; she thought he would clean up good.

The look on her face seemed not to have triggered any recognition of him. He frowned. "I mean, I'm no celebrity, I haven't been on the news or anything, but I thought your pal Woody would at least have clued you in, you know, mentioned me; this is quite disappointing."

Comprehension dawned on her. Her eyes widened and he thought that she had remembered him. He smiled and she frowned, "You bastard! You're using me to get to him?"

He sighed, "Not quite my pretty. I'm using you to get what I want. You see, as long as I have you as my hostage, he-can't-touch-me," with every one of his last four words, he poked her as if he was playing with a child.

"You're demented."

He dipped his grin in poison, his voice changed to the harsh tones he had used with her at first, "Be nice, my pet, or you won't be getting any sugar."


	15. We Are So Far From You

**AN: Yay it's getting more and more interesting, I really hope you'll be surprised at the end of this chapter! 51 reviews you guys are machines! Lol Thank you to everybody who have reviewed chapter 14 (btw, beccles hun, that's the point of suspense! Lol)**

**We are so far from you**

Woody panicked. Poltski was smart and unpredictable and he had done his research. _Had he followed me here? _ He wondered. He didn't voice any of his theories to Max, who was pacing the hallway frantically as forensics experts studied the room, among them was Nigel.

He exited her room, a grim expression on his face.

Woody wondered what this could all mean. He wondered when deep down he knew. He had a suspicion that, because the case was taking so long to solve, something would befall them. _Another emotionally packed homicide perhaps. _ He dared not think of it.

Max, Woody and Garret turned to him sick with anticipation.

"Well, did you find anything?" he pressed the usually upbeat man.

"I did find something actually. There's blood, which I'm taking back to the morgue to test DNA. If it's not Jordan's it's her assailant's," he paused. "But I don't think that it will really be necessary."

"What do you mean?" Garret asked.

"Well, I also found this near the window," he held out a crumpled bit of paper displayed in a clear plastic bag. Woody studied it and immediately recognized the scribble. _Poltski_. His face paled and he felt physically sick as he read the note.

_Detective Hoyt, I'm not as careless as you think I am. Perhaps your friend will make me a new bride, you remember what I did to my last one don't you?_

Max tore the paper from his hands and scanned the ink. His face flushed and his jaw clenched. He looked angrily at Woody, the vein popping in his temple, "You bastard. You had better fix this or I'll—"

"You'll what?" Woody challenged.

"I'll kill you!" Max spat out. His fist clenched, "how dare you bringing this home to us! Where is she?" He charged at Woody, grabbing him by his collar. "This is the second time you little—"

"Max calm down," Garret said, holding him back as he charged for Woody. He maneuvered him into the kitchen where he sat down on a chair

Woody stood in the dark hallway, feeling guilty of the most horrible crime. He was well aware that he had, however unintentionally, brought a monster home to Jordan and he knew that it was his responsibility to cuff him and toss him in jail.

"Nigel I need more, do you have anymore?" He begged, "Did you go through that room with a fine toothed comb?"

Nigel sighed, "I'm afraid I did. I wish there were more that I could do."

"There is, you can test that blood, find out who it belongs to, and compare this note to the one that Jarvis Poltski left at his crime scene last month. I just want to be positive of who I am dealing with. This could be a copycat or mistaken identity in order to fool us." He said allowed so that Garret and Max could see how he was taking charge of the situation. Then Garret began speaking to Max, giving him some consolation, telling him about what a fighter Jordan is, and how Woody will bring her back. The thought made a warm feeling flow through his body but he ignored it as he took Nigel aside, "I want you to do everything in your power to find out where Poltski is because I know that that is where we will find Jordan. Use anything you can."

Nigel put on his best smirk and agreed, "I'll do my best mate." Woody patted his shoulder as he left. He did not know what to do anymore. He tried to keep a straight, serious, face the entire time he was in the house but he could not do it anymore. There was nothing left to do now that the forensic experts had combed over the crime scene. He had already taken Max's statement, which had been more difficult than Max could ever have imagined. Woody felt the same heart wrenching emotions at Jordan's disappearance.

Garret approached Woody, his expression harder than a steel door. Before he could open his mouth, Woody said, "Yeah, I'm leaving, going back to the precinct to find out what I can on Poltski's whereabouts. Stay here and keep Max company if you want."

Woody began walking to the front door when Max exclaimed, "Woody, we're coming with you."

Woody stammered, "B-but—"

"I'm not a civilian."

"Yes you are; you're retired."

"Not at heart."

"That doesn't matter," Woody argued, "Garret what are you thinking? You two stay here."

The two men absolutely refused to stay and each took a seat in Woody's cruiser. Woody flipped open his cell phone immediately.

--- --- ---

Once again, Jordan awoke from a chloroform-induced slumber. This time there was no vehicle, it was dark and she smelled pine. She stirred heavily and found that she was tied to something, a tree. The ground was wet under her legs, which pierced with the feeling of pins and needles.

As she came to she could feel somebody untying her and standing her up, "Woody," she moaned.

"He's a go-nowhere bum, you know that," said a familiar voice, "if you didn't, you'd be with him and not with me. Forget about him."

The area she was in spun around, trees, dark looming shadows, more trees. She closed her eyes to stop the spinning but it did not help.

Angler kept speaking. He held her up and put something on her head, which made her vision harder. In the dark, it was light; looking through it made her surroundings a muddled gray.

Another voice spoke, "Do you, Jarvis Angler, take this woman, Jordan Cavanaugh to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Suddenly, Jordan felt perfectly sober.


	16. Forget About the Dirty Looks

**AN: I'm glad you all think it's exciting, but trust me, this chapter is better… Sorry for my infinity of beating up Jordan, it's actually fun, like a stress reliever, you should try it… lol … Anyway, on with the chapter, I really hope you guys like this one as much as you enjoyed the last one! Btw, thank you for all your lovely comments, I really appreciate every single one of them!**

**Forget About the Dirty Looks**

"Will you love, honour and keep her for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health?" The second man continued.

"I do," Angler said with a hint of sweetness in his voice.

Jordan struggled to free herself from his grip but it was no use, "Now, dear, you wouldn't want me to blacken your pretty little face on our wedding day would you?"

"Our—"

"And do you, Jordan Cavanaugh, take this man, Jarvis Angler, to be your lawfully wedded husband for richer—"

"I sure as hell don't!"

"You know she does, just skip that part."

"The rings then?" The white collared man said.

"Yes, I think the rings will do," Out of his sweaty fist, he revealed a strange looking device, which he wrestled onto Jordan's finger. It was made of a malleable material, which slipped onto her ring finger, a wire attached to a larger ring, which wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet and locked in place. It was decorated with white and yellow gold. "With this ring, I thee wed," he sneered, placing a gold band on his own finger. Jordan spat at him, trying to rip the device off her hand, "trust me dear, that won't help." He reached into his pocket and suddenly it felt as if her hand were on fire. She shrieked in pain and frantically tried to break free.

"Stop screaming Jordan," he said calmly.

She settled uneasily, whimpering in pain. The sensation stopped immediately.

"Now we can continue."

"By the power vested in me, in this state of Vermont, I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss the bride," the man continued amusedly, as if he did not realize what was going on and how odd this situation was.

"Vermont?" Jordan exclaimed confused. They had to have driven hours to get to Vermont.

Jordan watched through her veil as Angler approached her, puckering his lips. She felt sick and tried to limp away from him. He gently lifted the veil and it dropped to the soft ground. She backed into a tree desperately attempting to get away. He reached into his pocket again and like a timid mouse, she froze. He grinned evilly, coming closer to her. She could smell his fetid breath and she wretched. He forced himself upon her, crushing her against the tree.

"Now, my bride, we will go home," he grabbed the cast on her left hand and pulled her behind him.

She was furious, but she could do nothing to solve her anger. She felt tired and weak and wanted to lie down. She wanted all of this to go away.

He brought her up a hill to a secluded area where a family sized car was waiting for them. He tried to force her into the backseat but she resisted. He took her by the shoulder and slapped her hard across the face, "Get in the goddamned car!" he demanded. His voice echoed in the silence, Jordan heard scampering in the forest, like a frightened night animal, scurrying away.

"No," she said, taking a chance. She kicked him in the shin and limped away on her cast as quickly as she could carry herself. She stumbled and rolled down the hill, hitting the bottom hard. Her breath knocked out of her; she could hear him coming after her, sliding down the leafy hill. She picked herself up and moved again.

His calls dripped with disdain, "You can't hide from me Jordan, that little ring I gave you has a tracking beacon."

The electric fire sensation shot up her arm again, as if she had cut the circulation from her forearm to her fingertips. She nearly whimpered but she bit her lip and kept moving. However, despite her best efforts he caught up with her quickly, grabbed her by the neck, choking her.

"Do that again, and you'll find you have more broken bones than you can count."

He threw her body to the ground and she gasped defiantly, "I can count pretty high."

He sneered in an amused sort of way and followed her back up the hill, pushing her hard so that she fell on her face. When they returned to the car, her body was bruised; her throat pained her, as did her head. Her hand throbbed.

Before he pushed her into the car, he handed the man who had performed their 'wedding ceremony' a small object and said to Jordan, "I was going to wait until we got to the border to take our honeymoon photos but I suppose this is good too. He reached into his pocket and Jordan screamed in pain and surprise.

"Smile nice for the camera, beautiful," the man said. Tears streamed down her dirt stained cheeks as a bright flash blinded her eyes.

--- --- ---

Woody, Garret and Max made a stop at the morgue to check Nigel's progress at his bidding. Woody had no alternative and Max and Garret were short on ideas.

"Do you even know if he's in Boston anymore?" Max suggested.

"If I knew where he was, Jordan would be with us and not with him."

They walked into the building, which was warm in stark contrast to the chilly night. Woody's cell phone rang, he answered it with an eager yet sharp, "Hoyt!" the person on the line replied, "I've got people on the search for a ten mile radius, they haven't found anything yet." Woody affirmed his understanding and urged him to continue. He flicked the phone shut as they entered Garret's office.

Suddenly, from his hand, Woody's phone alerted him, not of a phone call but of something else. He flipped it open. "A text message?"

"You don't know what a text message is?" Max asked.

Woody shook his head, "No, I know what a text message is, I've just never received one before." Shrugging he pressed 'read'. _Sorry you weren't invited, we just couldn't wait._ Attached to the simple message was a blurry image of a tear stained and tortured Jordan and Poltski, waving his right hand, a golden ring shining in the bright flash.

Woody recalled the ominous note he had left after the kidnapping and felt sick. He fumbled his cell phone and dropped it, holding the desk to steady himself. Never, in his career as a homicide detective, had he seen something that affected him so.

Garret stooped and picked up the phone, "Oh dear God," he muttered, handing the phone to the eagerly awaiting Max, who seemed to turn a green colour.

"This cannot be serious," said Max, "I don't believe it."

Woody snatched the phone from Max and left the office. Garret and Max hurried after him as he pushed open the door to the forensics lab. "Nigel," he barked, "is this, a doctored image?"

Woody, with shaking hands, passed him the cell phone. Nigel's pale face went as transparent as a ghosts' would. His eyes brimmed with sensitivity. "I don't know, but… No, I don't think so. It is a low quality jpeg image most likely taken with a camera phone. She doesn't look hurt though… Just, just scared," he assured himself. He went to his computer without the enthusiasm he would have on a normal case, a case to which he was not so attached. He downloaded the image onto the computer with a speed that made Woody dizzy. In a Photoshop program, he intensified the small image, making it clearer to see, "What's that on her hand?" Nigel asked.

"The cast?" Woody asked.

"No, you dolt, that!" Max exclaimed, pointing at her right hand, which tried to push away Poltski. A thin wire attached a ring on her finger to a bracelet on her wrist. Nigel squinted, zooming in on that part of the image.

"Have you seen something like it before?" Garret asked.

"I may have heard vaguely about it, in passing maybe. I don't quite remember," Nigel said, "But I know what they are, they're new to the market, relatively unknown."

"What market?"

Nigel blushed slightly, sighing he said, "I think that it's a sex-control device. Masochist and sadists in a master-slave sort of situation mostly use it. This is a hand device but there are all sorts of kinky places you can put them."

"How do you know these things?" Woody asked, slightly disgusted.

"I hang out with an odd bunch, why do you care?"

"Never mind," Max interrupted, "have you found a way to find out where they are?"

"Well, I hadn't until you'd come here with this little piece of evidence. I can trace where the call came from through satellite," he said his tone gaining in excitement.

The three paced the room while Nigel searched for and uploaded the information. The grueling wait took longer than Woody wished. Any moment, he could be torturing Jordan to death, and it would be his fault. His stomached churned in tune with his mind. He went over how Poltski could have eluded him for so long and then snuck up behind him and took the person most precious to him. Woody wondered why; a warning, revenge, was he playing out a sick fantasy? Woody supposed that the true reason was that Poltski was using Jordan to get to him. However, it was no use dwelling on Poltski's character because that would not bring Jordan back. To think, he had just gotten over how he had caused Jordan extreme pain and then landed her in another situation. It was hopeless. He wanted to catch this creep once and for all, knock him down, slap on the cuffs, read him his rights (though he shouldn't have any) and drag him into his cell where he would sit and rot for eternity.

Max could not stand anymore, his knees felt weak. He had not felt like this since his wife had died over twenty years ago. He had been blamed for that murder, there was no chance he would be blamed here, but he would forever hold himself responsible if something horrible befell his daughter and he had not received the opportunity to apologize for being an over protective father. He wanted the best for Jordan, which is all. He figured that he had gone about it the wrong way by forcing his kindness down her throat with a rusty spoon. He sighed, sitting down on a stool near a table. On it were stomach samples in plastic containers. He supposed that his insides looked similar to that, except his were churning around nervously, ready to erupt at any moment.

Garret was angry, his hard expression twisted up on his face. He stomped back and forth in the room, making everybody, but especially Nigel, increasingly nervous. He did not even know with whom he was angry. He supposed Woody would be a first guess, for not being a good enough police officer and for getting her into this whole incident to begin with. If she had not been in that accident with him they would not have gotten as close as they had in the recent weeks and she would probably have been at work. Then again, if she had been working, the odds that she would have gotten herself into trouble were equally as high. His anger moved to Max, he was too overprotective of her, and the minute he let her out of his sight, she was taken, it's his fault for not being a good enough father to his totally independent thirty year old daughter. Try as he might, he could not be angry with Jordan, none of this was her fault, in fact, if there was anybody he blamed more, it was himself. He hated himself for overworking her, which led to her accident, which led to Woody spending too much time with her, which led to this Poltski creep stealing her away from all of them. He needed to stomp but more, he needed a drink.

Nigel felt as if he had been caught in the middle of everything. He wanted to find out where Jordan was; he only wished he were faster at what he did. He worked as diligently as he could, but there was nothing to do but wait until Poltski's cell phone signal was found. He kept busy, fiddling with evidence from the case. They had found some dirt from shoe prints, but the call Woody had made before arriving, proved that he was not where he was before the kidnapping and it was apparent that he was not going back to that place. The responding officers had found it deserted, and a trailer burned to ashes.

Suddenly, a beeping signaled that the telephone had been found. With fumbling fingers, Nigel brought up a window with a map on it. "Here, they're near Derby, Vermont."

Garret's mouth was dry, "The bastard's running to Canada."


	17. You Really Need to Listen to Me

**AN: 62 reviews! Wow! Well, I thought that maybe I should clear up some of your questions: **

**(hifromME!) yes, usually a wedding band is on the left hand, however, you have to remember, she has a cast on her left arm and arm casts cover her hand. I'm sorry if I didn't stress that as much as I should :\ **

**(Kerdiwen89) I thought of the title of your story when I wrote that part lol**

**Thank you everybody for all your wonderful comments! I really am sorry I can't get the chapters out as quickly as I would like, I try to do a chapter a week! I have little time for anything more. However, your comments truly are appreciated, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Lol, Woody is such a child.**

**You Really Need to Listen to Me**

Woody's phone rang again, "Hoyt!" he exclaimed eagerly. Max, Garret and Nigel looked to his stern expression. He spoke in such limited conversation that they could not tell what the person on the line was saying. "Thank you," he ended snapping his phone shut.

Suddenly Woody let out a growl and a scream, attempting at breaking his phone in half in frustration. If the situation were not so serious, Nigel felt he might have laughed at the detective.

"What is it Woody?" Max asked exasperatedly.

"Well," he seethed, "I've just found a bit of information that I could have used a month ago. Mr. Jarvis Poltski changed his name to Mr. Jarvis Angler shortly after his double murder and Mr. Angler has been running circles around me for the past month, leaning on both names when opportunity suited him best." He sat on a stool, his head hanging down, his eyes scanning the floor. "I should have seen something like this, how was I so completely blind?"

"But how?"

"He found an identity on the Black Market. It must have previously belonged to somebody long dead."

"That's why he would disappear as soon as you received a tip."

"Exactly," Woody's downcast expression told the whole story. His guilt and shame was tearing him to bits like demons inside of him. His teeth clenched as he said, "Why didn't I see this? If I would have paid closer attention, Jordan would still be at home…"

"There's no sense eating yourself up inside, Woody." Max offered reassuringly, "Every cop makes a mistake once in a while."

Woody looked up to him with disdain, his eyes were liquid pools of blue blame "Yes, everybody makes mistakes, but when a homicide detective makes a mistake, people die. In this case, it just happens to be somebody close to me."

Max nearly snapped. "Well, in my day, we didn't mope around in self pity; after we made a mistake on a case, we'd go out and do something to fix it. My daughter is not dead yet, I know that much, and sulking around here will do nothing to help her situation." His face turned crimson with anger, "If you're going to give up so easily, I'll find her and bring her home myself. This old dog's got some tricks up his sleeve yet."

Max stormed out of the laboratory. Garret and Woody were about to follow him when Lily burst into the lab, tears preparing to stream down her face. She went straight to Garret, "I was just told about Jordan what's going on?" She was shaking, "I saw Max in the hallway, but he told me to come to you for the details!"

Garret sighed, "She's been kidnapped, Lily. We are going to get her right now."

"We? You mean, you're going?" She asked, her voice quavering; her lip slightly turned up.

"Yes, what's so wrong about that?"

"Well, I mean, Garret, you're no cop."

"Are you saying I can't do this?"

"I'm saying, I think that we only need to lose one medical examiner at a time," a logical expression replaced the almost faucet of tears. Her face showed enormous amounts of concern.

"She's not dead, Lily," Garret responded, his anger intensifying.

"I know she's not dead. Just leave the cop's job to the police," she pleaded.

"Why are you so concerned?" Garret exclaimed.

"Because I care enough about you to tell you when you are being irrational! Garret, you are never irrational, but this is completely insane!"

There was a moment of silence, Nigel watched the argument from the sidelines, and he glanced back down to the map to see if the signal had moved. _I just hope he doesn't shut his cell phone off before they find him._ He thought. He looked back up to Garret and Lily, _The battle of the cosmos right there. Hey, where's our detective friend, Mr. Hoyt._ He was right, without any of the three knowing, Woody had slipped away from the scene in pursuit of Max.

"Hey, Garret, it seems that the trio of heroes is down to two," Nigel offered.

"What?" His face turned a deep, angry, purple as he ran after Woody and Max, but it was too late. The hallway window showed what Garret had hoped he would not see, Woody's police cruiser peeling away from the curb with a silent squeal of rubber on pavement.

--- --- ---

Jordan's limbs were not tied in the car; instead, Angler used the masochistic device on her hand to keep her under control. Each time he used it the sensation was no less intense than the last. However, her hand eventually felt numb with pain and it shook uncontrollably.

"Sign it Jordan." He urged, holding a pen to her. He forced it into her shaking hand. "Sign it." His tone was gentle, as if he were urging a child to take its first steps. She refused and the familiar pain pricked her arm. With a sharp intake of breath, her muscles tensed, and she bit her lip.

"Don't you want to recognize our marriage? It's been the happiest day of my life." His tone dripped with lies and his smile was that of sarcasm reincarnate.

She forced down her bitter laugher as if it were bile. _I knew marriage wasn't all it was cracked up to be._

"Sign it Jordan," he urged with more force now. The pen hung limply in her fingers, nearly dropping out of her hand altogether. With the pain, her hand clenched. She drew it closer to the ornate paper, the wedding certificate. She tore it in half.

The vein in his temple bulged. He said through a clenched jaw, "Don't worry, dear, I made more than one copy."

He forced another onto her lap but instead of letting her sign it herself, he held her arms and spat into her ear, "Sign it bitch, or I'll leave your dead corpse here."

Jordan was not sure where 'here' was. If she were to die at his hands, she would at least want to know that her body would be laid where somebody would find it, but on this deserted stretch of highway, she could not be sure of anybody passing by soon. She almost tore the sheet again, ready to withstand another bout of torture by her captor, but decided that his torture would quickly lead to something else. She subjugated and signed the flimsy sheet.

"Here." He handed the paper to the priest-coach-accomplice in the driver's seat. He took it, eyeing Jordan through the rear view mirror.

After setting the paper beside him in the front seat, he pulled the car over to the curb and shut off the lights. Jordan could see lights up ahead, like that of a town, the orange hue on a dark cloudy sky. The town was close, maybe a mile away, but for Jordan it was too far to go. The men got out of the car and locked her in, taking the keys and everything else out with them. They went to the trunk and Jordan's heart raced. She looked frantically around her for a way out of her mess. She tried getting her hand out of the pain-device but to no avail, she knew that as soon as she opened the door, Angler and his accomplice would be all over her like a rapist on his victim. She shuddered, _Try not to think of things like that Jordan, and don't panic. You'll get out of this. You've been in worse scrapes than this._ However, she could not think of one.

Angler opened the car door; he wore a backpack and hiking boots. His friend, with a wrench in his hand, opened the hood of the car, "Now, darling, we can begin our wonderful new life together. Get out of the car." He said, with an evil light in his eye, he forced her into the ditch.


	18. You Wear Me Out

**AN: I had trouble with this chapter, it took me longer to write than it normally takes, but I'm pretty happy with it! I hope you enjoy it! Btw, sorry it's kind of shortish. Thank you so much for all of the wonderful comments! I love you guys:D**

**You Wear Me Out**

Woody was in the driver's seat and Max urged him to use the pedal for what it was meant for.

"Max, I'm driving as fast as I can. My siren is on but the traffic is heavy. When we get out of the city we'll be flying, patience is a virtue you know."

"And every second that slips past is one in which Jordan could be killed," Max pressed.

"Don't you think I know that?" Woody retorted sharply.

There was silence in the car for a while. They both thought of their next move.

Woody's breath was quick with worry. He tried not to dwell on what was happening to Jordan. He tried to erase the picture from his mind but to no avail, worst possible scenarios kept popping into his mind. There was no way of getting to Vermont in time before they crossed the border into Canada

Max gripped his seat, not with fear of Woody's driving but in apprehension of what they would find when they arrived at their destination. Max knew Jordan's volatile personality got her in frequent trouble; he kept hoping that it would not get her killed this time.

The bright city lights eventually turned to roadside lamps, which eventually faded into the darkness that only a midnight drive on a country freeway can provide. The only source of light was the headlights on Woody's speeding Lincoln. All was silent but for the silent humming of the cruiser and the occasional car that sped by.

--- --- ---

They had been walking for an hour through the dense forest next to the town not a mile away; Angler made sure they skirted the population. The only sound was the crackling of dry leaves and branches underfoot until Angler whispered, "It doesn't look like that pretty boy has noticed you're gone. Too bad, he missed a ripe opportunity."

Jordan sneered though without any light, he could not see her. He continued anyway, "It's like a game of cat and mouse to you isn't it?" He laughed, Jordan hated his laughter, "But now, he's stopped chasing you for other mice and look where he's left you, with me, but I can't complain. I'm rather enjoying myself."

Jordan could not keep silent any longer; taking his ridicule like it was spoonfuls of dessert. She replied, "So, when did you become a psychopath, was it before or during the murders you committed?"

"Oh, I think I'm going to save that answer for a different time, maybe we'll make it a more personal matter."

Her leg was hurting her so much. Though she figured that under the cast her leg nearly healed if it were not already, she was not accustomed to walking on it and it ached terribly, then there was the cast blistering her skin. She soon fell behind slightly and she saw a shimmer of hope when she realized that Angler had not noticed, then her hand seared with fiery pain and she limped faster to catch up, making more noise than was necessary to tell him that she was still there. She wondered what would happen if she simply stood there in the darkness as they continued. Would they realize she had stopped? She supposed they would, the sound of her limping and struggling to keep up would cease. Would they be able to find her? It was dark, and she knew that the tracking beacon on the control device was false, a cheap con to try to scare her into obedience. She was wearing dark clothing; maybe they would mistake her for a tree. Is it worth a try? _Definitely_.

Her heart beat rapidly, partly out of nervous fear on what she was about to perform and partly because of the strenuous exercise. _I am definitely going to have to get back to the gym when I'm better, _she thought, chuckling inwardly.

Ten minutes later, she fell back far enough behind to make him nervous. She felt the fiery pain snake up her arm. She shuffled her feet, making it sound as if she were trying to catch up, "I'm coming," she spat angrily, "It's not my fault I can't keep up!"

"That's right; its detective Hoyt's fault isn't it?" He sneered.

She was surprised he knew this, and it caught her off guard for a moment. "Yeah, that's right," she huffed, making a little more 'catching up' noise with her feet. He was on a rant now, telling any of the two who would listen about how much he hated detective Hoyt and how much he would love to crush him with his own two hands. Her plan seemed to work, the more he talked, the angrier he became and the angrier he became, the louder his voice got, nearly drowning out the sound of their footsteps in his disdain.

Jordan grinned, ducking off their path as the sound of his voice carried further down the trail. When his voice had faded with enough distance, she started, quickly and painfully in the opposite direction, straining her ears for the slightest sound of a follower.

--- --- ---

They rounded a bend and could see the lights of a city shining up ahead, "You know, we're almost to the border. What are we going to do when we get there?" Max asked, trying to establish a plan of action. He had been on Woody's cell phone with an incredibly angry Garret for the past twenty minutes receiving all of the information he had dug up on Jarvis Angler.

"I have a feeling we don't need to get to the border quite yet," Woody replied, applying the brakes with too much pressure and skidding to a stop on the side of the road. He forced the car door open and the smell of burning rubber filled his nostrils. He jogged ten yards behind where he had stopped, there was a vehicle matching the description of the one Jarvis Angler had bought at a used car dealership not three weeks ago, sat with its hood pointing to the unlit sky.

"This is no regular breakdown, Woody," Max said, bending down beside him and picking something off the pavement.

"What makes you say that?"

Max inspected the item he had picked up with his flashlight. He had found a grimy bolt that had been tampered with recently.

Woody looked into the forest his jaw set, "Do you think—?"

"That's most definitely an option."

Woody hurried back to his car and popped the trunk.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going in there."

"Woody, it's a better idea to call for backup. I am too old to be running around in the bush, I've come to terms with not being a cop anymore, and you can't do this by yourself. How do you know he doesn't have an accomplice?" Woody froze. "It's too risky, and besides, they could be miles away, even on foot. Stop letting your emotions guide you and get back into the car. We'll drive to Derby Line and get some backup, it's not far."

Despite what his heart was telling him, Woody knew he was right. He was too close to mess this up now, too much was riding on his actions. They both got into the car and continued to the town, hoping that it was not too late.


	19. I Never Want to Let You Down

**AN: I never want to let you down or have you go it's better off this way… please enjoy! And be relieved to know that it's almost done, I'm guessing a couple more chapters and I'll have wrapped it up! Thank you kindly for all of your comments (you have no idea how excited I get when I open up my email!) AthenaIceGoddess, BoscoCruzCrazy, KittyDoggyLover, Keridwen89, Orlando-crazy, cavanaugh-girl, daynaa, bhicks07, beccles, LafilmeMichelle, mini-cactus, hifromME, Katie, Nat, Susan Rose Potter, paigelynn, eternalgorithm, Angel Spirit, and spikes-storm thanks to all of you!**

**I Never Want to Let You Down**

It was not hard to convince the county sheriff of Derby Line to gather a task force together in order to go out in search of Angler and Jordan. Chief Fiorenzo, despite the flowery origin of his name, was an aggressive man. He had been stationed in the county bordering Canada for 16 years with little more action than the average paper pusher gets in six months; a lifetime of punishment for disorderly behavior as a detective with the NYPD. He despised his station, though he was chief, it was bitter sweet, he knew he got the job because there was nobody else that would take it. He was tired of the customs officials pushing him around, always sent to do their bidding. He ached for excitement and now was his chance.

When Detective Woodrow Hoyt and Max Cavanaugh walked into his tiny department, it was as if a message sent from heaven.

Chief Fiorenzo gathered his deputies for a briefing held by Detective Hoyt. They reminded Woody of a younger version of himself. Eager with the fire of law enforcement, most of them were relatively new recruits who had probably lived here their whole lives. Their eyes glossy with pending excitement looked up to Woody in anticipation. To him they looked like puppies, and he was the leader of the pack. He felt hardened and he wondered if that were a blessing or a curse.

"OK, this man, going by the name Jarvis Angler, has murdered two people and kidnapped another, Jordan Cavanaugh. He is wanted in the state of Massachusetts and his vehicle was found, abandoned, on the I-91 two miles south of Derby Line. We can only assume he fled the vehicle for the forest with his hostage, we are sending three of you to investigate headed by Chief Fiorenzo. I will be heading the other part of the investigation. The remaining two officers, and Mr. Cavanaugh here, a retired homicide detective who has been a major part of this investigation," he volunteered to clear up any misconceptions on Max being a regular citizen., "will run ahead to the border to warn the customs officials and create a barrier." The officers exchanged looks when they heard Max's name, Woody knew that they suspected he was not only meager help in the case but he was personal to the case as well.

Chief Fiorenzo piped up; his voice was loud with the authority of an army sergeant major, "Alright, let's get organized. I want two cars out to the scene and two cars to the border."

Max took Woody aside and said in hushed tones, "Let's hope we're not too late."

--- --- ---

Meanwhile, Jordan was still on the run. It had taken them hours to traverse as far as they had. She figured that, considering where they were, they were near the border when she managed her escape. She knew it would not take long before Angler found she was missing and he would be jamming that button with such ferocity that she figured her hand would fall off. It had not come yet and even that left her feeling slightly nervous. She wanted the warning to know that he was coming after her because when he did, she wanted to be ready for him.

She was sweating profusely, her inch-long hair matted with dirt and grease. She felt like a broken G-I-Jane. Her only thought was putting enough distance between her and her captors but with every step she took, she knew it was not enough.

She heard shuffling behind her. Quickly she dodged off the deer trail and ducked behind a large tree surrounded by ferns. It was the most secretive hiding place she could have hoped for under the circumstances. Her eyes were having difficulty adjusting to the changing light and she hoped that her pursuer was having difficulty too. To her dismay, Dawn was quickly approaching and though the forest was thick, it could not shroud all of the light, and Jordan wished she had more time in the dark to escape unseen.

Beside her was a thick piece of wood. The end had rotted but as she held it in her good hand, the firmness of the blunt object surprised her. Her sweaty palm held it tight.

The noise of crackling branches stopped in front of her tree. Without even the sound of her breath, she leaned in closer, shutting her eyes, and silently hoping to become part of the tree. A bird chirped in the distance, then another long note. The crackling branches under the foot of heavy boots continued on the path she had been taking. She waited breathlessly for several minutes before risking a look over the lush ferns.

A gunshot rang out piercing the tree and showering Jordan with bark. She stumbled backward, rolling down a small embankment. Suddenly, as if somebody were trying to tell her something, a rabbit darted from a worn alcove under the embankment. It had a sandy bed that must have housed a stream at one time. There was no time to run so she squeezed herself into the space in the earth and the felled tree with no time to spare.

She covered her head; as her pursuer thumped above her, sand showered down upon her cramped body, and then he jumped down. Jordan could see his heavy hiking boots and the bottom of his legs, poised as if he were listening. He walked one way and then the other, indecisive in the direction she went. Then the sound of scurrying feet alerted them both. Jordan's head bolted up awkwardly, nearly smashing on the roots above her head and her pursuer turned around and dashed into the direction of the sound. Jordan thanked God for that little creature that had saved her life.

She was not sure whether she was taking a bigger chance by staying where she was or running around defenseless in the forest. She decided that staying unseen was most important although the smell of her hiding place left something to be desired. The decay of earth and animal feces were not the perfume she had hoped to be wearing today.

Uncomfortable, yet exhausted beyond comprehension, she made her bed and slept curled in the small cave. Her leg cast digging into her other leg, her feet cramped against the cold earth, her arms drawn up underneath her chest and her face sucking in the only air she could get from the mouth of her cramped opening. It was cold, damp, smelly and bug infested, but she was thankful only for her safety.

Her last thought before drifting off was of her father and of Woody, she wondered if they were doing everything in their power to find her, or if they even knew she was missing. If she could do nothing else with her life and these were her last moments before Angler found and murdered her, she wanted to tell them that she loved them.


	20. What Will it Take to Show You

**AN: Chapter 20 and still going strong lol no but seriously, we're almost to the climax now! Boy are you all going to be surprised (I've got it aaaall planned out!) Thank you for all your wonderful comments! Yay! AthenaIceGoddess, BoscoCruzCrazy, daynaa, jtbwriter, peridotstone823, KittydoggyLover, Orlando-crazy, Cavanaugh-girl! And anybody else who commented that I may have forgotten . thank you! (Btw, my new forum! http/ Will it Take to Show You**

Woody's nerves were fried. Downing his fourth cup of coffee since he had arrived in the small border town did not help the matter either. His driving was erratic as he followed the two deputies to the customs office. Glancing in the rear view mirror he hardly recognized himself. It looked as if he had painted his face white in the hopes of becoming a rather depressed looking clown. The violet bags under his eyes added the pathetic touch that made clowns so comical. Max was not too much better.

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive?" Max asked.

"Positive," Woody said simply striving to be in control of anything because his case had veered so wildly off track. He considered adding a witty comment afterward but found that his brain was not working well enough to make his mouth move let alone think of anything to say.

He shook his head like a wet dog, dodging sleep. He silently vowed to himself that he would not rest until she was safe in his arms; or at the least, just safe.

Earlier, he had a decision to make, whether to take the three officers out to the abandoned car and sniff out the trail or to drive ahead and warn the border patrol and hopefully block their path. Woody hoped he had made the right decision, he wanted to be the one to slap the cuffs on this sadistic bastard; he craved his blood. He could not wait until he felt the true feeling of accomplishment watching this criminal, no, this scum, rot in jail for the rest of his life. This entire charade would end at that blessed moment. The thought kept Woody going.

He stepped on the pedal and urged the cruiser in front of him to go faster.

--- --- ---

Fiorenzo had no trouble finding the abandoned car, with him as their leader, it was no wonder his highway patrolmen were the best in the north eastern United States. He spread them out as soon as they established the territory. This brought him back to the days when he was younger, a bright cop on the NYPD solving crimes and eliminating the threat. He missed the good old days; it was his turn to shine again. He hoped that he would be the one to slap the cuffs on the scum that dared try to cross through his town.

_Detective Hoyt, you have made the wrong decision_, he thought. _It's harder to try to block him off because he knows that's what you intend to do. He'll be on the look out for what's up ahead. You have to sneak up behind him._ But he supposed that Hoyt had it right, trapping the culprit between a rock and a hard place was still a smart thing to do, although to spread your men thin can be a death wish. He had a hard time agreeing with the young detective, but at times he couldn't help it, Woody was a mirror or Fiorenzo at that age. _He does have good tactic I suppose_, he thought.

"Smyth, I want you to get any clues you can find off that car. Binns and Lopez, scour the ditch for evidence that they entered the forest here. I want footprints, clothing, and every piece of garbage, when you find it, contact me," he ordered.

--- --- ---

Woody could feel how close he was to finding her. He pulled into the lot reserved for the Derby Line customs office and slammed the car door shut. Max hadn't even taken off his seat belt by the time Woody was in the building.

Their call ahead hadn't seemed to inspire anybody to jump up and do anything about their situation. The office was calm, professional; their urgency hadn't convinced anybody to put down pens and set up a man made line to finish this hunt. Woody looked like a frazzled fool entering a Buddhist Shrine.

"I assume you're detective Hoyt of the Boston precinct?" A woman asked with military proficiency.

Woody recognized her voice as the woman he had spoken to on the phone. "Officer Grady, I hope you have taken my advice."

"I have. I have called the local RCMP across the border and they are preparing for an interception right now. I assume you have the help of Chief Fiorenzo?"

"That is correct," he replied, pleased to hear that she had done something about the situation. The way Chief Fiorenzo had described her; it was like trying to bend a steel girder trying to get her to cooperate. She seemed relatively compliant today.

"So, you have no more business here."

"I intend to cross the border, ma'am," he said, adding some Wisconsin sweetness to charm her into liking him.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Without commenting on his intentions she said, "Why haven't you stopped this man before he came to the border."

Woody felt himself twitch slightly but she had a good point. Without exploding angrily at her he managed to say, "The case has been a long and complicated one, ma'am, but with your help it'll soon be over."

She eyed him again, trying to weigh his personality, "Do you have your passport with you?"

He frisked himself briefly, frantically checking every pocket before lifting a small blue book with the United States emblem on the front from his rear pocket. He wasn't even sure why he carried it with him; he figured it was a cop's intuition that he would have to leave the country at a moments notice.

"You and only you are to be crossing the border; I don't want all your little friends running around in Canada buying cheap liquor at the duty free."

"Yes ma'am," Woody complied happily.

--- --- ---

Two and a half miles south east of where Woody was preparing to leave the country and two miles east of where Fiorenzo inspected an abandoned vehicle, Jordan was woken with a start by the click of a revolver and a gravelly voice dripping with sarcasm, "If you value your life, little miss, you'll come with me."


	21. A Match You Strike to Incinerate

**AN: Whew that chapter took forever. Well we've gone from a tired Jordan getting into an accident with Woody in Boston to a desperate Jordan trying to save herself while Woody follows her trail in Canada… Keep reading as I post to find the conclusion! Special thanks to all of you who've posted almost 90 reviews! 90! I'm hoping to get to the 100 mark before the story's finished ;) (btw, that's like 5 reviews per chapter, I truly appreciate that! The most I've EVER received!) cavanaugh-girl, KittyDoggyLover, daynaa, Orlando-crazy, BoscoCruzCrazy thanks a lot!**

**A Match You Strike to Incinerate**

The sun was out, high in the sky it streamed through the trees. Dawn had approached and with it, so had her pursuers. Jordan was torn from her safe hole with the ferocity of a storm. Angler's silent assistant had finally spoken, and with a gun in his hand, his words were convincing. Jordan squeezed out of the animal cave and was kicked repeatedly for her subordination.

Her sobs turned to painful screams until Angler came to silence her with his control device. "That's enough," he said to his nameless accomplice. He stopped beating her as her hand stung with fresh pain. She had gotten used to the normalcy in her hand and the fire that spread up her arm hurt more than it had before. On her knees, she held her bruised stomach with her free hand while the other convulsed. Her face contorted in pain, she screamed out before puking on the forest floor.

"Silence woman or you'll get worse than that," Angler growled.

His gravely voiced friend laughed as if he were enjoying a nice day in the park before wrenching her up by the shoulders so that she could continue the journey to the border.

Angler lost control; he whipped a gun out of a holster hidden behind his jacket, "You God damned little cock wipe, did I tell you that you could touch her?" The man's face looked fearful as he let go of Jordan. She fell to the ground in a pained lump. "You useless pile of rat feces," he roared, "go to hell!"

He pulled the trigger aimed at his accomplices' forehead, splashing his brains out through the rear. The man fell to the ground faceless and in a motion slower than reality. Never had death been so morbid for Jordan than watching that man die at such close range. If she had not been witnessing the entire event, she recognized every scientific symptom for death on him; a single gunshot to the head at close range with a 9mm pistol. She lost her lunch again on the forest floor.

Angler bloodied his shoe with the man's face by kicking the corpse repeatedly, splashing blood over Jordan's body. She felt nauseous again but with nothing in her stomach, she could not do anything to solve her problem. She sat, motionless but for her trembling, until he reached down and pulled her up forcefully mumbling something about how his work was finished after the bomb. Whatever he said, Jordan could tell that he was at his wits end and she had messed up her last chance to get out of this situation alive.

--- --- ---

Binns and Lopez finished scouring the area, they pulled clues out of the ditch and guessed the area in which Angler and his hostage had entered the forest. They found a third set of footprints as well and with Fiorenzo's permission, followed them into the forest.

"Here's another," the younger officers Binns, said, approximately thirty feet from where his colleague, Lopez, studied the print made by a cast, "it must be the hostage's."

"I would assume so because it matches no animal in these parts and Detective Hoyt said that she had broken her leg a while back. Who knows, that cast mark might just be the factor that saves her life. The cast is heavier than a regular foot print, and when applied by her body weight, it can be seen clearer than the others."

They continued down the trail further, marking their way with florescent coloured strips of plastic tied to trees. They found that she had grown tired or weary or pained and began dragging her cast, making a deeper imprint in the ground.

"Maybe we should contact the chief and tell him what we're finding," Lopez suggested responsibly, reaching in his pocket for a cell phone.

The eager Binns agreed as long as they could continue down the trail. His hopes of following the trail were dashed when they heard the explosion and felt a blast of warm air sift through the trees behind them.

They hurried back to where Fiorenzo and Smyth had been searching the abandoned vehicle, or what was left of it. The vehicle was now a smoldering heap of metal unworthy for the scrap yard.

Binns got as close as the burning inferno would allow, trying to see any signs of life from Fiorenzo and Smyth. Lopez was on his radio in an instant for backup and medical assistance.

--- --- ---

"Detective Hoyt!" One of the deputies called from his cruiser, "There's been an explosion on the I-91 where that abandoned vehicle was found!"

Woody's heart clenched, _what a mess,_ he thought. "Go then, you can't do any more here, join Fiorenzo and the others."

"What are you doing Woody?" Max asked.

"I'm going to Canada." He hopped in the cruiser with officer Grady, leaving an irate Max on the sidewalk. He peeled out of the lot toward the manned border. _Almost there Jordan, just hold out a little longer._

--- --- ---

_Woody where are you?_ She cried desperately in her mind. She knew she shouldn't depend on him, or anybody else to save her. She knew long ago in the dark, damp forest during a faux wedding that it was only up to her to get out of this bizarre situation, that waiting for somebody to rescue her was too damsel in distress. However, the thought wouldn't go away.

Angler mumbled for a little while, angry that she had put them so far behind, and he had been forced to shoot the other man because he had laid his hands on his wife and bruised her. Angler was no less violent, however, and she was at that point where she thought she could not go on. He dragged her at gun point, because his hand-control device seemed to have lost the spark much like their marriage. According to him, they were making decent time and would arrive at the border soon, "Then home-free my little pudding pop."

Jordan sneered, "Do you actually believe you're going to be home-free?"

Angler laughed psychotically, "Of course I do, my dear. What do you suppose those French-speaking Liberal Hippies are going to do to me?" He swung her around and slammed her into a chain linked fence. Jordan looked up and gasped, she knew she was not going to be able to climb that fence not only because of the height but because of the razor wire precariously perched at the top.

From inside his jacket, Angler produced a tool that looked like an enormous pair of pliers. Jordan knew that it was a lock cutter, she watched as he began snapping the metal fence. She wanted to run but knew she had a better chance to get away later, if she weren't dead. She was in so much pain she was shaking. He finished snipping the gate revealing a hole large enough for him to crawl through. He forced Jordan through first and followed her.

Another ten minute walk led them to an abandoned, two door sports car. The getaway vehicle. Jordan groaned as he forced her into the passenger seat and, with a pair of handcuffs, secured her to the door. She put on her seat belt; she had an aching feeling that Angler wasn't a very safe driver.


	22. Take a Good Hard Look

**AN: Wow, this is a shorty; I promise the next chapter will be longer! Sorry for making all of you guys nervous! Lol I got a kick out of all your reviews though such a lot in a short amount of time!hehe, well a special thanks to daynaa, jtbwriter, Cavanaugh-girl, WIWJ, Orlando-crazy and BoscoCruzCrazy! Here's the next chapter!**

**Take a Good Hard Look**

Woody was not entirely sure why Officer Janine Grady insisted on tagging along. She was a Peace Officer, as in one that maintained the peace, she carried no weapon but he assumed that perhaps she had ways of getting him across the border that he could not accomplish alone. His predictions turned out to be truths. Upon arriving at the Trans Border, she revealed an identification card; Woody slowed to a stop and rolled down his window. Officer Grady showed the woman in the booth the card, telling the officer, "Detective Woody Hoyt of the Boston Police Department is apprehending a criminal trying to cross the border. He is an officer on duty."

Woody was instructed to produce his passport identification and his badge, which he did so without hesitation. The border patrol officer affirmed that Woody was, indeed, the same person pictured on his identification card and told him to proceed, "Welcome to Canada, sir," she said firmly, with the same enthusiasm a fast-food drive-thru window operator has when one receives burger and fries.

"Thank you," Woody mumbled, proceeding onward. "Now, Ms. Grady, where is the blockade you've set up?"

"Please, call me Janine," she said uncertainly in her French-Canadian accent. "It's a difficult situation because there are many roads that can take you many places here in Quebec. We assume, through previous experience, that your American fugitive will be heading toward Montréal."

"Why do you assume that, Janine?" Woody asked; his Canadian geography facts at a less than average level.

"Because going to Montréal allows him a greater choice. He can hide in the city if he prefers or he can leave the city and travel the remainder of Canada. I have told the police blockade to be on the look out on the intersection of the Autoroute des Cantons-De-L'Est and the Autoroute Transquébéciose west of Omerville."

Woody hadn't a clue what she just said but it sounded good to him, "Just tell me where to go."

"I intend to," Janine's cell phone began ringing; she reached to her belt and answered it, "Hello, Bonjour. Yes, this is her," there was a pause; her expression was flat, unreadable. "Thank you, I'll tell them." She flipped it shut and immediately opened it and began dialing another number. This time, she spoke rapidly in French. When she was finished with the person on the line she flipped her phone shut once again and turned to Woody, "There was an abandoned vehicle reported three kilometers east of Stanstead Village on a road near the border, ten minutes ago, the Canadian border patrol officer witnessed a man forcing a woman with a broken leg and arm into that same vehicle. He reported them driving north-east on Chemin Lagueux." She was perspiring slightly.

"Do you know how much time we have?" Woody asked.

"Well, that depends on which direction they take and how fast you drive. He obviously doesn't know he has anybody tailing him or he would not have risked crossing the border. I stand by my assumption that he is heading for Montréal"

Though he knew in his mind Jordan's fate, he couldn't help the weight lift from his heart, _Thank God she's still alive,_ and he felt his foot apply a little more pressure to the gas pedal.

--- --- ---

Jordan was right; her sore hands gripped the upholstery tensely. She knew that these were her last moments in life, spent, handcuffed to the passenger's side of a car with a less than desirable psycho. She tried to calm herself down in order to think but her heart beat faster than if she was running and her breaths would only come to her in quick succession.

The road signs were in French. What little she knew about Canada was learned in grade school taught by a heavyset woman with no attitude for teaching. She knew that she was in the province bordering Vermont, which was Quebec, the majority of people in Quebec spoke French. Its major cities were Montréal and another one that was the provincial capital; she couldn't remember the name, however. All she knew was that she could not see a city or town whether it was blocked by trees or simply out of her vision, all she could see were farmlands and roads for miles.

Angler had a wide grin on his face, which sickened Jordan; he thought he had gotten away with all of this. She decided that keeping silent would kill her just as much as speaking out, "Where are you taking me?"

"West."

"West where?"

He sighed exasperatedly, "Did you learn nothing in grade school Social Studies? The rest of Canada is west of here."

"Well, you have to stop somewhere; you're tired and hungry aren't you?"

He glared at her, damning her for knowing too much of his mortal weaknesses. "I considered taking a break at Montréal, you know; get some French cuisine, like le McDonalds. Maybe do the tourist thing."

"Romantic," Jordan muttered.

"I wouldn't have our honeymoon any other way."

Jordan sneered, her mind working over time. What she knew of grade school Social Studies was that Montréal was not too far from the border. Perhaps her next opportunity for escape would come in the city. She sure hoped so.

He swerved onto another street, this one slightly wider than the last one and with a yellow line down the center. Ten minutes later they were on another street then another. Soon they found themselves on highway 55 with large green signs telling Jordan how far Magog and Omerville were, and that Montréal was slightly over one hundred kilometers to the west. The west, his freedom, her doom; a little bit of hope trickled away and her heart sank a little further.

The digital clock in the car read 6:30. She looked out in the distance, the rear end of cars traveling in the dawn to work. They sped passed them as if they were non-existent. Up ahead, going faster than all the other cars on the highway she saw a familiar black sedan with Boston plates. Her heart opened, though she did not show this to Angler. Nervously she licked her lips, she believed in second chances and she believed that she had just found hers.


	23. I Held You Close as We Both Shook

**AN: And you all thought that he was going to find her! The final chapter? Read on! Thanks to all my faithful readers! You guys are the best! Daynaa, Orlando-crazy, jtbwriter, WIWJ, cavanaugh-girl and KittyDoggyLover!**

**More notes on bottom**

**I Held You Close as We Both Shook**

Her timing would have to be perfect. She would need something to prove to the driver that it was her, that she needed a hero and that the hero had to be him. She knew he would accept her proposal, after all, why had he traveled to Canada if he had not sniffed out the trail to find her?

"What's that smirk for?" Angler asked suspiciously.

She hadn't realized she'd been smiling. She could almost feel her chance slipping as Angler's sports vehicle crept upon Woody's cruiser but suddenly she rolled down the electronically powered windows and stuck out her left hand; surely he would see her cast and know that it was her.

As if time had frozen, his head turned casually, glancing into the car next to him. Jordan was filled with joy as their expressions met. Her dark eyes bored into his desperate blue ones as if telling him that she knew he would come for her and that she had confidence that he would finish this no matter the cost. Her tired smile widened and she waved her fingers, her cast caught in the window. The recognition dawned on him like the new day and their eyes connected until Angler had passed Woody's vehicle.

--- --- ---

Woody's eyes were drooping slightly, he was tired beyond belief and he tried his hardest to be alert. He kept his eyes on the road but his mind kept drifting, thinking of Jordan, her situation, and what he was going to do when the time came to stop it. Little he knew he would have no time to think; only react. Janine was concerned with the way the vehicle was swerving.

He glanced in the rear view mirror. Another vehicle, too far away to discern was approaching quickly in the left lane. Much faster than the posted speed limit of 110 km/hr. As the blue sports car swept passed he stole a glance and what he saw surprised him. He recognized her boyish haircut first; the one that he told her was cute, the last time he saw her, to her feel better. That seemed like an eternity ago. The cast on her left arm was trapped in the window as a desperate attempt for recognition and her pink fingers waved happily at him like a child's. Her beautiful face, full of hope was like an angel's to him.

"That's her!" Woody exclaimed. "Hold on!" He felt the fatigue drain from him instantly. He pressed the pedal to the floor matching Angler's speed. Jordan's hand was wrenched inside the vehicle and Woody could see no more of what went on behind the tinted windows. He feared that his cruiser's speed governor would kick in as the sport's car accelerated. Faster and faster they weaved in between traffic. Woody put on the police sirens and lights; he didn't know whether this was a blessing or a curse, as the highway traffic heard him coming, they cleared the way, allowing Angler an easier path to travel down.

Janine was already on the phone with the RCMP blockade set up on the adjacent highway. They were uncertain whether he would be taking that road; it had been a lucky guess. She now told them that they were in pursuit of the vehicle. They were to stay where they were, just west of the entry ramp onto highway 10.

"Woody, I have a plan," she told him quickly, "there are two exits coming up, both go onto the Autoroute des Cantons-De-L'Est, highway 10. One exit goes east, the other goes west. The RCMP blockade is on the west side. Force him to go left."

The Omerville exits sped past as Woody nodded in concentration. He was having a difficult time keeping up with the sports vehicle but he pressed. Instead of following him directly, he swerved into the right lane and kept a shaky pace with him. His eyes straight ahead, peripherally he could see Jordan, fighting with Angler over something, a gun? Her expression was desperate; he had no time to save her.

He felt a jolt and heard metal crush on metal, the sports car was pushing his cruiser into the east exit, but his cruiser stood up to the abuse. His face was inches from Jordan's but a mile away; with the cars locked together he could roll down the window and touch her soft skin, he could take out his gun and shoot the bastard in the driver's seat, but he dared not do anything that might bring harm to Jordan. He turned the wheel to the left, the speed slowed slightly as he pushed Angler's car into the west bound lane.

Not a moment too soon, the cars separated and, like a blue bullet the other car sped ahead. Woody applied his brakes and swerved hard to the left to avoid putting the car in the ditch. A moment later his foot was back on the gas pedal.

"Do they teach you Boston cops to drive?" Janine exclaimed frantically.

Woody felt bad for putting her in danger, but she had insisted on tagging along no matter what the cost. It was her job to make sure scum like him didn't get into her country, she was making sure he got dragged back to America to be prosecuted, but in a body bag would also be nice.

Woody answered breathlessly, "They teach us defensive driving, a few tricks of the trade, nothing like that though." He had caught up once again and was merging onto a deserted highway. Less than a mile up ahead, he could see the blockade.

He was on Angler's tail. He wanted to stop the car before the blockade because he wasn't sure what Angler would do. Blow through the barricade as if there were nothing to stop him? There were no other vehicles on the road; he knew the perfect tactic.

It was called PIT, or pursuit intervention technique. He sped up, quickly, and with a cheetah's agility, he tapped the passenger side front panel with the driver's side rear panel forcing the sports car into a spin. Both the cars rolled to a stop. Janine screamed, but there was hardly a sound in his ear. Woody was out of the car as quickly as Angler was.

"Freeze!" Woody barked, his gun outstretched and aimed at Angler's head. "Get on the ground!"

Instead, he fled.

Instantly, three RCMP officers were in pursuit of the criminal from the opposite direction. Woody didn't take a shot because of officers running toward him, there was no sure aim. He watched with bated breath as they dragged him down, slapped cuffs on him and read him his rights. He had hoped that he would be the one to do that, but this was not his jurisdiction, in fact this was not even his country, and besides, he had other business to attend to.

Janine was out of the beat up cruiser ushering Woody to the sport's car. There she was, the woman he had come to rescue, for once, she needed help. She was his damsel in distress.

--- --- ---

In the vehicle, she almost cried with bliss when she saw him; now the tears were streaming down her cheeks obscuring her vision. She knew he would come for her but she never imagined that it would take him so long. She had never totally lost hope, there were times when she thought she had but in the back of her mind she knew that somebody would come for her. She was glad it was him.

She searched frantically for the keys to the handcuffs that secured her to the car. She found them in front of her in the glove box. Her hand shaking inside her cast, she managed to unlock the cuffs and open the door. She stepped out. She felt like a fawn learning to walk, her legs were shaking so badly.

However, he was there to hold her up.

They looked momentarily into each other's eyes, her tears falling down her cheeks; he brushed them away, smearing the dirt on her face. His gentle hands couldn't stop stroking her skin, as if he were trying to be certain that she was real and that all of this really was happening.

He reached down to her right hand and easily ripped off the sex-control device, tossing it on the ground. He brought the palm of her hand up to his lips and kissed it lightly.

"Woody," she whispered faintly, her hand in his, falling into his dependable arms.

He kissed her forehead, holding her tighter than was necessary he said unsteadily into her ear, "I hate myself for losing you."

She didn't want to stop listening to his frantic heart beating she didn't want to come up from his deep soothing breaths but she did, looking him seriously in his face she replied, "I love you Woodrow Hoyt, for finding me."

She saw him blush a deep Wisconsin crimson and a bashful smile tempted his cheeks making his lips quiver as they drew nearer to her own. Before she knew it, she was lost again; in his kiss, in his eyes. Willingly she dove into his embrace, pressing her body, though shaking with pain, against his.

Reluctantly they broke apart, an ambulance had arrived for her and she agreed to some first aid. Before hopping in the back, a young blonde woman with an accent approached Woody. She said with a hint of playful sarcasm, "I knew there was an ulterior motive for coming to Canada, this was not about catching a criminal; this was about saving the love of your life."

Woody didn't have anything to say to her, he knew it was the truth, but as the wind swept passed, he simply looked at Jordan and smiled. She returned the smile with a knowing expression in her eyes and allowed the paramedic to help her into the ambulance. Woody thanked God it was over and that she was safe.

* * *

**Note: I got the PIT thing from a url that doesn't want to stay on whenever I save this... It is actually really bothering me, anyway it was off some police tactics site, if your interested say so and i'll send you the url, if not forget about it! I mean jeez i did some research!**

**Now, who thinks this needs a follow up chapter? Tie up some loose ends perhaps? Gimmie your opinion in a review and if I get enough (5 being enough) I'll write one, if you think this is good as it is then tell me so! Rating out of ten anyone hmm? lol**


	24. Every Star Fall Brought You to Tears

**AN: at the bottom—**

**Every Star Fall Brought You to Tears**

Two months later, on a brisk winter afternoon, Jordan stepped out of the Boston court room; her testimony had been the icing on the cake to the evidence of the criminologist assigned to the initial crime. Jarvis Angler-Poltski would not be getting out of jail for his lifetime if anybody could help it.

Early in the case he had plead insanity but Jordan assured everybody that he was not insane when he kidnapped her, he was just sick. She told him of how he had tortured her and how he ruthlessly murdered his accomplice, whose name had been Jim Timmons, a local Bostonian car repairman who had gotten confused in Poltski's little game and tried to live out sick fantasies of his own.

He admitted to the kidnapping but held a firm non-guilty stand on the previous two murders of his brother and cheating girlfriend. He had tried pinning Timmons' murder on Jordan but, not only did the jury not buy it but Jordan provided forensic evidence to protect her innocence. The jury sentenced him to seventy five years in prison without the chance of parole for the three murders and the kidnapping. Charges were dropped on the two murders of Fiorenzo and Smyth because the car bomb that caused the explosion, meant simply to destroy evidence, was created and planted by Timmons. A separate case would need to take place in order to sentence him for illegally fleeing the country and a list of other charges that were brought against him in Canada.

Jordan would be ready for that hearing though she knew that not much would come of it. She gracefully paced down the snow drifted stone steps to the street where Woody stood with the passenger's side door open and ready. He took her left hand and kissed her cheek before she ducked into the car. He shut the door behind her.

They drove in happy silence to a familiar little bar called the Pogue. As chivalrous as he was, Woody didn't have time to shut the car off and run around to open the door before Jordan stood on the sidewalk in anticipation. His heart skipped a beat seeing her in that black dress.

The casts had been removed, and her bruises had healed. It had taken a while before she could recover her strength sufficiently enough to return to work, but she had. Her scars from both life threatening experiences were healing, Jordan would always have some reminder of the car accident on her face. Whenever her right hand unexpectedly went to sleep, she would curse Angler for how he's changed her life.

It was the soft hand that Woody held as they entered the bar. It was a private function, a Merry Christmas, a welcome back, congratulations, and a celebration of life. Everybody was dressed to impress.

She looked at her tuxedoed father behind the bar. He had been left in Derby Line by Woody but he wouldn't have had it any other way. As he had mentioned before, he was finished with being a cop, the life was exciting for a little while, but the stories that Woody told afterward nearly gave him a heart attack to imagine. He was grateful that Woody had brought his daughter home safely. She lived with Max for the week and a half after returning from Canada before having her casts removed. She had not complained or given him the cold shoulder even once. Now, as he poured another beer for Nigel, his eyes shone with pride and hope for the future.

Lily approached them in a ravishing green dress and took their jackets, hanging them on a nearby hook. She gave Jordan a hug, like she had everyday since she had been rescued. Her kind smile and laughter brought a tear to Jordan's eye, she was so incredibly grateful to have the friends she had. Nigel and Bug waved jovially from the bar and others exclaimed as they entered.

Garret was next, he was still slightly bitter that Woody and Max had abandoned him at the morgue but he had found that he had a purpose there. It was he who had discovered the make and model of the car Angler had bought and kept Max updated on Angler's position. Jordan cocked her head to the side and invited him for the next hug. He accepted, warning her not to wrinkle his tux.

The Pogue was filled with the sound of laughter, clinking glasses and happiness.

She looked to Woody; the joy in his face was indescribable. Two months ago, he had gone to hell and back to save her, to help her, and she would forever be in his debt and all he wanted was her. He never wanted harm to befall her and he never wanted any other man to mirror her gaze. She accepted with a simple ring on the _proper_ hand.

Her marriage to Angler had been authentic the moment she signed the certificate; needless to say, she had gotten it annulled at her first opportunity.

Stiles had recently told her that it would take longer than two months to emotionally recover from her ordeal. She understood but daily life was still difficult for her. She cried at odd moments and laughed at others. Two months ago, she thought she wasn't going to live to see Christmas, that everybody was going to celebrate without her while she lay in her eternal resting place a shallow grave dug by her wicked husband. Now she laughed until she cried and cried until she laughed. She lived her life as if every day would be her last. She always accepted help when it was offered and she tried her hardest not to let her temper flare.

And every time she gazed into Woody's blue eyes, such as now, the past escaped her mind and she could see a glimpse of her future. She saw a wedding, children, and a house with a white picket fence, excitement, joy and laughter. Tears swelled in her eyes and all she could do was smile.

Fin

**AN: Thank you everybody who commented! Much appreciated, I thought this story needed a little post-excitement happy ending, I mean; it just seemed to drop off a cliff. So I didn't wait for the 5 required comments before I wrote it, in fact, I hadn't even posted the 22nd chapter before it was written. And as a treat I posted the lat two chapters together! Thank you all for reading my story, it's really the best I've written yet, keep watching for my next crazy idea, you'll like it if you're in the mood for some Lily/Seely/Bug/maybe-Jeffery-if-I-feel-like-it excitement, maybe a little terror, and perhaps a happy ending (not THAT kind of happy ending... gawd you people are sick!) I haven't really gotten all the details worked out yet, but I will ooooh I will and you will enjoy!**


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